More than Anyone
by MujerN
Summary: He's my older sister's good friend. He is rugged, warm, and cool in his tweed pea coat. His sneakers worn like he'd walked through a lifetime and just got back. All he did was walk through the door every morning. He knows things but not about me. I am shredded with love.
1. Chapter 1 - Him

**More than anyone**

Edward Masen  
Isabella Marie Swan

A story based on true events.

 **Chapter 1 - Him**

He is rugged, warm, and cool in his tweed pea coat. The sneakers on his feet are rubbed and worn like he'd walked through a lifetime and just got back. All he did was walk through the door every morning.

He is cultured, passionate about human rights, and fascinated with structure. Yet, he is always late. He carelessly misplaces keys and shades. He hands over ideas on wrinkled paper. He tells facts and philosophies on random topics casually in conversations at parties. They're always fitting and insightful, never out of place. He corrects and answers with complete confidence and he knows how incredibly charming he is. Nothing phases him.

But I laugh at myself, you know, so I won't cry, because he knows things but not about me, not the inner things that are buried in thoughts and wants. Things you couldn't read over micro prickled skin when he walked by or dilated eyes with his smile. Inside I am shredded with love.

He slams his satchel on his desk and it flutters the papers in front of me. Every day I slap at sheets to settle them. I was forced to buy a damn paperweight. And when I mean buy, I really mean place my glass mason jar on them, because who buys paper weights? Everyday my eyes roll to the back of my sockets. Every day I flick a hand at the brown, worn leather of his, stupid, sophisticated, and ridiculously sexy satchel away from my vicinity. And every day the warm scent of him wafts so gently through my nostrils on the ready, already flared with annoyance.

I hate to admit that just once I took a whiff of his coat after it fell off his chair. I had to pick it up. It was the nice thing to do. For a co-worker. For a friend. For a pseudo-boyfriend. Whatever. It was quick and had to be done. That one whiff was worth it—in the packed elevator standing behind him. He didn't notice. No one did. Being slightly short has its advantages. I swear these were the only two times I violated his space and my sanity. I questioned it. Him. Wondering how this enigma exists.

He has a few outfits he ever wears; plaid, black knit sweater, t-shirts, a wrinkled button up, layered thermals—olive sleeves on white pushed to elbows. But the jeans...the jeans are a tragedy, the good kind. Blick pen through my heart or between my teeth right now just watching him in those jeans. The t-shirt is my favorite, though, his chosen attire for today. It's fitted over his arms, torso, and chest. Pecs like _The David_. The shirt with _Ché Guevara's_ silhouette on it was made to kill me. I look away before he'd think I was acknowledging his presence.

"Some moonshine to start the day?" he asks, his faithful good morning.

"Loads of it. Already drunk and ready to strip and thrash my glistening naked body around." No emotion in my words. He chuckles.

Just because a jar is used for lemon infused water these days, doesn't mean it's fucking Moonshine. What is this, the 1920's? Such a hot jerk.

"Do you want to know what I ate last night?"

 _Please, don't say Jess. Please, don't say Jess._ "Not really," I say instead.

He tells me anyway. "Opened a can of spam, I sliced that baby up. Slapped it on rye, bit of cheese whiz and tomatoes. Grilled it. I can still taste the oozing saturated fat." He smiles.

I slowly move my head to glare into his, stupid, gray eyes framed in pointed Panther-like tear ducts. "Do you even know how many preservatives and enzymes spam has? And what grown ass man eats cheese whiz, for crying out loud?"

I'm in this clean eating phase in my life, you know. A raw-eating vegan who still eats meat and cooked meals. I asked him once what that made me. He scoffed and said a normal person, but I refuse that answer. My nutritionists are stacked pics on Instagram. I put hearts all over those every day. Meals and tips at the stroke of my thumb. Chia seeds in my green smoothies. Organic honey in my teas. Coconut oil in my scrambled eggs. I'm an expert now. This, of course, amuses him to no end.

He begins licking his fingers one at a time. The index last. He sticks it into his mouth, sucks, pulls it out. I'm not glaring anymore.

"Mmm," he hums and proceeds to flick my bottom lip with it. "Meeting in the conference room." He stands and rushes off.

"Fucking piece of...gross!" I wail with flailing arms. I march after him. My dress sways around my thighs. My Martens thump on linoleum. I hate him and I love him, but I really hate him. I find him across the room with his arms over his chest and a smirk on his face.

Emmett is at the end of the wall pointing at post-its stuck to it in rows. "House visits today. Who's got yesterday's addresses?"

Ben nods and lifts a finger. Everyone stares and waits. "I dug those up. I did my part." He shrugs like 'don't look at me.'

Emmett sighs. "Fine. I'm choosing then. Masen, Bella, you're up." I look up when my name is called. The chuckle coming from Masen at his corner is infuriating. I notice Ryan beside me flex his jaw muscles but keeps silent. I can't seem to ponder further on that as my tongue sweeps discreetly over my bottom lip.

He drives. Of course, he does that well, too. I sunk into the passenger side. The cushions are springy and old. The dashboard is that old model tinge of maroon on hard enamel. The trimming painted metallic, cracked around panels of false wood. His Sedan is an old hideous mess...but it smells like him. I'm floating on a cloud created with vapors of his musk. It's delicious, and I'm sitting on 9th with a harp.

A dog barks far away. I look up. It tugs and it tugs until my shoulders start bobbing.

"Don't even think about it. I know you're thinking about it," he warns me. I can't help but let out the guffaw. He growls. The sound goes straight to my thighs crawling up. I sober for a second.

Working as union organizers is a task. You have no personal life. Nights are never off and weekends are eventfully rushed with meetings to get signatures from workers. I'm single, and it's best I keep it that way. I'd never have time for a normal settled family life. I see this guy more times than I see my bed, which I crawl into around 1 a.m. on random nights if I'm lucky. Otherwise, I'm at Jane's apartment crashed and trashed. Waking up in unfamiliar territory is a norm after a pub night with the team. We do that. A lot. We're like family. We're all we've got.

House visits are the manual way to get signatures from workers who are still adamant about joining. Door-to-door people open up and we explain all the benefits of working for a unionized company. Safe, secure, with rights. The trick is if their employers are against it and find out, workers get fired. Hence the adamancy. Hence us having to run into house pets who want to kill us.

How do we get the address you might ask? Well, as Ben said, you dig them up. Find that dumpster by the corporate buildings and go fish—employee info on the ready. It's amazing what you can find in garbage. So much secrecy and grunt work goes into this job, not many know. We're fucking spies.

"The way you freaked when the dog ran up," I say wheezing through laughter. "Your knees touched your chest you ran so fast."

He grumbles, swearing under his breath. I reach and tug on the brown curls at his nape. "Down, boy." He sighs, but I see a suppressed grin. He purrs after a while. I let go before I rip a lock and stuff it in my purse for some sniffing later.

The gear shift clicks in place with the force of his grip. "Just for that, you're leading this time." I smile. Fine by me. We're down the list by half. Most were folks in their late 30s and 40s who made our job easy.

We knock and Ms. Jimenez opens with curlers in her hair. Her eyes go wide. She runs inside. Masen and I look at one another and frown. Just when I'm about to call her, she pops out again. Her hair bounces around her shoulders. She smiles up at Masen, and a clip goes flying out of her head. A small mutt comes racing out. It clamps its teeth on it and off it goes towards the grass.

"Umm," I point. But Jimenez and Masen seem to be battling it out in a stare-off. Masen stiffens beside me but stays silent. I don't ask. I clear my throat and introduce myself. The speech goes on for 5 minutes.

She was an easy sign. I gather the papers and get in the waiting car.

"What the hell was that?" I spit, slamming the heavy door.

He doesn't look at me and fiddles with the heat that rarely works. "What?"

I flick my hair and pucker. I gesture a thumb over my shoulder. "That."

"Fuck if I know. Next address, please."

My stomach clenches at the thought. All the thoughts. Masen naked with a woman in curls. Not me. Usually, he'd spill, but he's not. It's unnerving. The rest of our day is spent awkwardly. He doesn't even attempt to tease me.

We get back to the office and it's after 2. Ryan is smoking on the stoop leading to the doors. He doesn't look up, not a nod, not even an acknowledgment, as he takes a puff. I climb the steps, Masen, behind.

"Bella, come here for a sec," Ryan says through smoky lips. He gestures towards the cement at his side. I don't mean to, but my heel slips as I make the turn and I'm snug to his arm. He lifts it, and it goes around my back.

Masen chuckles humorlessly as he walks passed us. I squirm.

"Why did you leave so fast last night?" He asks, bringing my attention back. I shrug-hoping his arm slips off me in the process.

"Tired, I guess. Long week."

"You said you'd be back, but you left. Some manners you have. You owe me a drink."

"I owe you nothing," I say. The truth is I do since he covered for me at a workers meeting Thursday. I stepped out of work to go...sulk. I didn't tell him it was because of Masen and Jess outside at lunch sucking on each other's tonsils.

These pub nights aren't healthy. They really do make people look hotter under alcohol and dim lights because Jess is nothing but a half dollar whore. My opinion but not my words—Kate's from work. Our team has more coupling than _Pretty Little Liars,_ or so she tells me. I've never watched the show. The worst part is Ryan was out getting lunch at Chipotle with me after badgering for half hour to got with him. No way he could've missed my expression. My red face. My fury. I told him I had to help my mother as she was supposedly not feeling well. Poor mom, she's always the scapegoat of false excuses. She's healthier than me at 26 and runs a yoga class every other night. I get winded going up flights of stairs.

Ryan chuckles like I'm bullshit and I am. He knows. He'll use this against me until he gets what he wants—a full night with him and not a blurred one. It was a drunken mistake I'll always regret.

Now Ryan carries a knowing look, a smirk when he looks at Masen. I'm terrified he'll tell him about my sick obsession, but I can't bring it up. I won't. What if it's all a bluff?

"So, it's settled. Sunday night it is. Dinner at that place, what's it called? I'll pick you up."

I sigh. "I'll meet you there." No way he's coming into my house again.

Masen ignores me for the couple of hours left to work. He doesn't turn on the radio, not even a bit of R-Kelly like he always blasts on Fridays just to watch me squirm. I leave. Not a word. And the only thing I can think about is the look on his face when he kissed Jess, eyes open, watching her. Then, just to ease that knife deeper into me, his eyes slowly closed as his hands moved into her hair.

* * *

 **A/N:** Hello again. :-) Still trying to figure out the names since this was an original fic. I still had Edward in my mind while writing. Always.


	2. Chapter 2 - Napkin

**More than anyone**

Edward Masen  
Isabella Marie Swan

A story based on true events.

 **Chapter 2 - Napkin**

...

It's Sunday. I don't make a habit of coming into work. I refuse. But it doesn't mean we don't meet with coworkers for drinks. I wake up, and I'm sour. I can feel it seeping in. The dread and regret. Thoughts of Ryan's lips and his skin on this very bed. I've stolen something from myself, this sanctuary. I let no one in but the people most dear to me. I've besmirched it by letting a guy in I don't desire. I opened the door and allowed all the wrecking to havoc in my personal space where I dreamed of gray eyes and no one else's.

I cringe with memories of Ryan's dark eyes instead.

I shower. I drink coffee while the TV murmurs. The view from the kitchen island hurts. Right there on that purple couch. So many nights, conversations with Masen. He became my soulmate. Well, OK, that's dramatic. But it felt wondrous to curl up beside him and get to know him. That kiss was just what I needed in my life, enough to ruin everyone else for me.

After months and months of craving those lips that moved to tell me things—about life, his family, his dreams—I waited for them to come closer, to feel them. Then it happened. The next day everything was ruined.

I'm not going to dress up for Ryan. Fuck it. Not even my nice underwear. I won't even shave. This man will get nothing from me but polite chat over wine. And awkwardness.

I slip on jeans and flats. I push on a shirt that covers the cleavage and anything else he could skim his fingertips over. I don't wear makeup but lip balm. I'm out the door.

God, why does he have to be so good looking? Ryan stands from the small table in a fitted cream knit sweater, dark jeans and shoes with thin laces I always stare at and wonder why they're blue. He tugs on his neatly combed dark hair with a hand that settles at his nape for a scratch. He pulls out a chair so that I can sit. But not before he takes a slight step and wedges me against the table. His full lips run over my cheek. I turn my head, and it only allows him more. He takes the chance and lingers on my neck.

"I think you've got it. No need to inspect further." I sneer.

"Just wanted to check to see if you were wearing that perfume I love so much." I try not to roll my eyes at his response. But really, his face is sincere and with that expression and his words, I bet any woman would tingle all over. I sigh. I feel said tingles as I reach for the menu.

"What's wrong?" he asks. I grin and shake my head.

"Oh, nothing. Just tired, you know..."

"Long week?" He finishes for me. He leans back in his chair and gives me the bullshit look again. I dig my nails into my palm.

The waiter interrupts and I want to hug the man around his apron.

I order the biggest cocktail on the menu and water...and bread and that spread I love so much. "Oh and napkins please." I shut my trap. Ryan is watching me. I wave a hand towards him. "I'm done. Go ahead."

He takes a breath, calmly and gracefully orders a scotch. Neat. Just like him. His leg is crossed over the other. He reaches up and aligns the silverware in front of him carefully on the napkin. His dark eyes travel up to mine.

"So why are you avoiding me?"

I shake my head slightly from the shock. I blink. "What?"

"You're avoiding me," he repeats.

"No, I'm not."

"You are."

I shift in my seat, and this is going to be a long night. I sigh. "Ryan, I..."

He leans forward, and we're close. He runs his finger over my neck, down to my collarbone. "Tell me," he murmurs.

I bite my tongue. "I...well." I clear my throat. "It was a mistake. I was drunk. You know this."

He shakes his head. "I remember you were perfectly fine." He lowers his voice and gaze over me. "You didn't complain. In fact, I remember very well...you begged."

I shake him off. "No. I was out of it. I was angry, and it was an off day. We can't..."

"Angry about what?" His finger glides over my cheek. "Angry about Masen not giving you attention?"

I panic. I greedily grab my drink when the waiter places it in front of me. I gulp. That finger at my throat trails down. He's waiting for an answer. _Fuck, he knows._

"This is not what I came here for," I manage to say, almost to myself. I make that noise at the back of my throat when I want the ground to swallow me whole from embarrassment. I see him smirk from the corner of my eye. I look around finding the exit.

"Then let's get out of here."

"No! It won't happen again. God, what am I saying? I mean we did nothing, ok?" Truth is I can't remember. I was so gone and the last I remember was him, shirtless, over me. I beat myself up over it every night. Terrified, wondering what the fuck happened. But I'd never tell him how much I don't remember. He can't know. No one can. I was on my own with the consequences. I was on my own running to the pharmacy the next day. I was on my own...until I ran right into Masen on aisle 3.

"We were so good together," he whispers. He smells so nice. Definitely not like someone else I wish was trailing fingers all over me right now. But my brain is foggy. My heart pounds and thoughts of Masen kissing Jess makes me want to do things right now.

Said finger dips into the scotch making it dirty. He trails it on my lip. I flinch. I push him away and go for the pile of napkins. His hand is on my cheek next, gentle but firm, whirling me right back. His lips are on mine. I grip his knit sweater, it gathers in my fists.

"I want you again. Don't make me beg," he says when he pulls away. I push and sit back. My hand at my purse on the floor already when I see those sneakers. Those worn, beautiful sneakers. My stomach plummets.

"So this is what you two do on Sundays," Masen utters over me. He's tall. I stretch to look up at him. The grin doesn't reach his eyes I stare at wide-eyed.

Ryan chuckles. I look back at him, and he knew. Masen standing there, watching all along. I grow red.

And if my heart could pound harder it'd be out of my chest. I want to cry and yell and simultaneously hug Masen and beat Ryan's face in.

Masen pulls a chair from another table a bit too roughly. The customers there look up but don't dare to say anything. "May I join you?" He asks after he sits.

"Table for two," Ryan says.

"Don't mind if I do." Masen invites himself. He leans back and gets comfortable. His face goes from blank to a beaming grin. "Beautiful night for a...date. Isn't it?"

I can't breathe.

"Which usually entails two persons, not a third wheel," Ryan says.

Masen gestures a thumb over his shoulder. "Actually, I'm with someone. I never go solo." He glances at me. All I can do is stare back dumbfounded. Not a sound, not a word from me.

I kinda wanna die.

He reaches over and takes my drink from my hands. A buzz from the contact goes clear to my chest. It's familiar, and I crave it. I ball my hand willing the prickling behind my lids to dissipate. I won't cry. He takes a hefty drink. The glass is half empty. I won't get a buzz from it now.

When he pulls it away, he smacks his lips together and looks over at Ryan. He narrows his eyes and smirks. "No roofie, right?"

Ryan's jaw tightens. My jaw seems to find the floor.

"Nah, you wouldn't have the balls. You would actually have to break the law to buy some off a chump, huh? God forbid. You're a gentleman." Masen continues talking. Alone. No real conversation here. He places the glass back in my hand. But not before he loosens every finger and curls them around the glass again.

He speaks to me directly for the first time. "You're safe, babe," he whispers loud enough for Ryan to hear.

I see the shadow of someone by us. I look up. Chloe from the business office. Her hair is bobbed, cut short and dark bangs the same. She wears red lips casually.

"Hey, guys! Didn't see you here!" She smiles. She always smiles. She's a happy person. Exclamation points in all her sentences. She brings more awkwardness to the table. Pun most intended.

Chloe curls his arm around her waist where he sits and pulls her close to his side. "Just saying hello to the love birds."

I look at my hands.

"Ok! I just got our table. Unless you want to stay here...?" She runs her fingers through his hair. The mess of waves I love at the top of his head he always keeps long. I'd like to chuck the half empty drink at...something.

"No. Table for two," Masen says gesturing at Ryan and me. "I'll meet you there in a bit."

But since she talks so much, she hovers. Happy hovering. She small talks with Ryan, boobs close, but he's tense still and answers in single syllables. All the while Masen stares. At me. His scrutiny so saturated I begin to pant.

I stand abruptly. Everyone cuts their eyes to me.

"Umm..." I fumble for my purse at my feet. It falls twice. A few things roll out under the table. I curse and bend. I can't reach them. I make that grunt in the back of my throat again and get on my knees and under the table cloth.

"Well, well, Bella. At least wait for us to leave," Masen says mockingly. Chloe guffaws loudly. I pause, staring at legs and shoes in darkness. A tear definitely slips. I begin to crawl out and leave my 22 dollar fucking mascara I can't find. To run. Far away. But I spot it by Masen's foot. I reach, and he reaches, too. Our hands meet. I grip the black stick, and he grips me. He pulls me up to my knees, and I'm close to his lap. His long legs on either side of my elbows. "Pretty girl like you should never be on her knees," he says looking into my blurred eyes. He takes hold of my waist and hoists me up on my feet until I'm pressed to his chest now. Chloe is already settled in my seat to make more one-sided conversation with Ryan.

"Bathroom..." I incoherently mumble for Masen to hear. I walk off. His hands linger down to a fingertip until I'm out of reach.

I rush into a stall rattling it closed, and I can't help it, I take a breath and out goes the sob. I won't go back out there. I won't.

I take longer than people take in a public restroom, just crying like an idiot. After hearing women come in and out for what seems like an hour, I splash cold water on my face. The red still brimming my eyes. I'm so ridiculous. No man should make me feel this way. I'm a strong, independent woman. So I think I'll sneak out and not confront things.

Unfortunately, the exit is close to the table. Masen and Chloe are gone. Only Ryan remains taking sips of his drink and thumbing his phone. I look around for Masen and no sign of him. I breathe a little easier.

A waitress passes me by with drinks. "Excuse me, is there another exit?" The girl takes one good look at me, my desperation, my fidgeting hands. She turns to look towards the restaurant and then back at me. She gets it. She nods to follow her, and I do.

I cringe. The walk down the back of the restaurant is visible to the tables on the main floor. I scurry to catch up to the waitress's tray to hide behind it. In the process, I bump into her shoulder. She pivots but finds her balance. I gasp to desperately mutter an apology but the door swings open to the men's bathroom. I crash into that and then to the floor. Masen is staring down at me. The bump on my head throbs under my palm. I see two of him.

The waitress asks if I'm ok, but it just calls attention to this...mess. People turn to look. Masen looks confused, standing immobile. He looks over at Ryan's table and back at me. I ignore him.

Like a beacon of light, I see the neon exit sign. I run. I run like hell.

The parking lot is around the building. I grumble. The universe hates me. I grip my purse to my chest. I hurry through this dark alley. The dim streetlights are far and aren't helping. A dog barks far behind me. A trash can lid crashes to the ground. Now I'm sprinting. I can't hold back a yelp, and this is ridiculous. I just want to be in bed. Alone. With wine.

The lot comes to view as I take the corner. Relief. I cross the way and light pours from the restaurant over the lot. I look back, and there's Ryan still at our table for two. His gaze is lifted towards the lady's room. He's probably guessed he's now at a table for one. His head begins to turn to look out into the night, and I freak. I crouch behind a car. I breathe when I see my mini just two cars down.

I yank my purse open and dammit, why is everything always a Mary Poppins clutter in here? The jingle by my pinky is like a sweet tune to my ears. I snatch it up. My hands are shaking, and the three attempts to find the button on the lock is a whole new impossible task.

"Pieces of shit fuckers. I will throw you all out when I get home!" I curse at the millions of key chains. The bundle slips and its airborne. The key chains splat on the ground right off my hands. A hand that isn't mine with long fingers snatches them up before I do.

I scream. I think the entire block hears me. Masen stands there with his hands over his ears, and my keys pressed to one of them. I stop screaming—maybe like a minute or two later. The pregnant pause is awkward as we stare at one another. I settle. My shoulders slump. I shuffle my feet. My hands fall to my sides in defeat as I find my bearings. Suddenly, I'm very exhausted. Even with him standing here, witnessing the vulnerable freak that is me, I can't find it in me to care anymore. I feel the panic dissipate. Maybe because he's near and when he is, I'm always calm and grounded. One look at me and he knows what I feel. He says nothing. I don't even attempt to part my sealed lips to speak.

Not a word is uttered from either of us when he grabs my wrist and drags me along. He unlocks the doors on his first try and waits for me to get in my car. He doesn't slam the door, it softly clicks. I'm grateful for that. He walks around, slides behind the wheel and turns the car around towards my apartment.

The streetlights flicker over the sunroof as the car rushes by. Time is moving. I shouldn't waste it. But I can't even conjure up the strength to apologize, let alone explain my erratic behavior tonight. Forget trying to even tell him how very wrong he is about that kiss back there. I only ever want to kiss him. The cabin of this car is too air tight and quiet, just his fingers gripping and loosening over the leather of the wheel. Every time they tighten again I swear he'll start yelling. He doesn't.

We reach my street, and I chance a glance at him. His jaw muscles are sharp. And when he's like this I know I shouldn't barge into his thoughts.

The brakes slowly squeal to a stop. He gets out of the car. I'm frozen to my seat staring at my front door yards away. Deep down I hoped the ride wouldn't end, just to be with him.

I stupidly start when he opens my door. He steps back and waits for me to crawl out. We're not eye level by any stretch. But If I stretch my neck enough, or had on those heels he saved me from face planting that one time, we would be. I have to see what he's thinking. His eyes, though, aren't looking down at me. He moves the keys in his hand and stares at it. The door definitely slams behind me this time. I cringe.

He walks ahead of me. He uses my keys even though he has a spare. The door to my apartment eases open. He steps back out into the sidewalk where I stand and drops the keys into my hand. He begins to walk away.

I look around, and I just realize—how would he get back? "Masen," I call. But he doesn't look back. He shrugs further into his pea coat and continues down the road.

I definitely won't be alone in bed tonight. Sorrow will accompany me...and wine. Lots of wine.

...

It's been a week and not a word from him. He's moved his laptop to another desk that isn't close to mine. He jokes. He laughs loud. With Zack. He hates Zack. Zack is a 'moron with a degree.' His words, not mine. He has never really gotten along with him. Zack is the type who thinks he's God's given gift to humanity. It is your pleasure to be in his presence. He's condescending and is wildly incorrect most of the time he spews out pseudo facts from that brain he has. There's nothing in the world Masen hates more than false facts. But he laughs and sits by Zack all week. That's how I know he really is avoiding me.

I'm hurting so bad. My brain has been so flooded and fogged I can't focus beyond him across the room. I go through emotions, shame, bewilderment, anger then back to sadness. That's when I have to run to the bathroom and hide my tears. I've felt my heart skip with anxiety between anger and sadness, but then I'd realize it was probably heartburn. Lunch alone all week at Chipotle has taken its toll. Hiding out here, watching from my table at the front if he'd come out of the building and pass by my window. I'd cover my face with a large napkin every time.

At noon every day, I grab my things and go for lunch for two hours. So many enchiladas I think I am one by Thursday.

Friday I contemplate leaving Chipotle early and head to the drugstore to buy some Tums. It's too much hot sauce, and I'm a coward. _No more of this bullshit and beans, Bella! Get a grip._ Fuck, my conscience is so damned confident. I never listen to her.

I look out the window, and my stomach swishes when I see him. My routine. I perk up and watch him descend the steps and walk down the street. He does that so well. I could watch forever. But today is different. Even though he detests the sight of Chipotle (hence me choosing the one place I can hide from him), he crosses the street and walks towards the shop. He's alone. No Zack. His eyes to the floor and hands in his pockets. He makes a turn. I freak. This is not how it's supposed to be. He usually walks past but never facing me. This time he's taking a different route.

I snatch up my handy napkin and fumble to cover my face. Stray pieces of beans and lettuce fall from the wrinkles as I stretch it out. My heart is in my throat, and I fold into myself as quickly as my body can physically muster in a split second. And yes, this is ridiculous, but I'd rather eat a spam sandwich than have him figure this out. My last view of him through the window before I cringe is him still looking down. _Thank God._ I wait it out.

When a few seconds have passed, long enough to feel like it's safe to look up, I straighten in my seat with a huff. I dump the napkin to catch the last moments before he disappears down the opposite way of the sidewalk. But If my ass wasn't planted on this seat I think I'd fall and break a hip.

My gasp is audible. I try to cover my face again, but it's too late. Masen has stopped walking and is now standing there watching me through the glass. A new wave of acid climbs my throat. I choke on a cough. Everyone looks over to see me go red...or pale, whatever color one turns when you've been caught with your hand in a cookie jar.

He's looking at me through knitted brows. Anger is clearly showing over his face, and _oh, damn, he's pissed._

I grab at clean napkins to stifle my fit, and when those aren't enough, I snatch my scarf up. Simultaneously, I try to stuff it down my throat and wave him away, so he won't charge in here...like he's doing right now. I panic.

He looks so feral walking towards me that if it weren't so frightening, I'd find it a turn on. Well, I find it a turn on regardless. I take in a staggered breath and try to compose myself before he reaches me. I tap a few keys on my laptop seeming to look busy.

"What is that supposed to mean?" He almost yells.

I look up. "Oh, Masen. Hey."

"Are you mocking me now?"

Err..."What?" I look around, and he's still loud. I lift a hand to gesture to pipe it down, but it ends up looking like I'm telling him to sit on the vacant seat in front of me. He waves his hands like he's not having it.

"Look, whatever. Stop acting weird. You've been sitting here every day for two hours looking like a puppy in a pound hoping to get picked. I was going to call you in after Dunkin' Donuts, but your antics were too ridiculous to ignore. A smiley? _Really?_ " His face scrunches up in distaste. He waits for a response.

"Umm." I'm confused and horrified. He knows. Red flush embarrassment has now turned to hives down my neck and most definitely over my boobs as they feel suddenly very itchy.

"Forget it," he interrupts. "Just meet me at the factory tonight by the back. Emmett assigned us to get addresses."

"Oh." I'm full of words today. He turns to walk away. My shoulders begin to slump, but my back straightens again when he turns his burning glare back at me.

"Sorry I couldn't get your _boyfriend_ to go with you, but he doesn't like getting his sweater vests dirty." He spits. And with that, he turns on his heels and leaves me to cower away from curious eyes around me.

I sigh. I rub my face with trembling hands, and I will not bawl my eyes out here. I look down at the table and there it is, the napkin. A bean and a salsa smudge form the eyes. A half moon of guacamole forms a mocking grin from the edge of my bowl. My stupid, paper disguise smiles up at me as it did through the window.

 _"Fuck."_

* * *

 **A/N:** I even uploaded a cover of Masen. :-) I always pictured him as such while writing.


	3. Chapter 3 - Key

**More than anyone**

Edward Masen  
Isabella Marie Swan

A story based on true events.

 **Chapter 3 - Key**

"What the hell are you wearing?"

I look down at my clothes. A raggedy t-shirt with hair dye stains on the front from that one time I tried penny red. My jacket is a windbreaker zipped to my chest that makes plastic noises when I move. My legs are clad in sweats that I'll definitely throw away after this. There's a hole on one knee that folds over my shin a little. It's a perfect dumpster dive disposable outfit.

I shrug. "What?"

"Did you fall into a shredder?"

I make a face and like a fuse set off, I'm suddenly sick of his bullshit. I scan my brain for a comeback but come up with nothing. I gesture "dick pumps" with my fist and finish it off with fingers in the air as it "blows". I tell him to _fuck off_ when words can't. So vulgar of me, I surprise myself. But, God is he being a dick.

This amuses him but he turns and hides his face since he's still pissed at me. Gotta keep up the façade.

I follow him down the back of a brick building. He doesn't even wait up. He opens the metal lid to a wide and deep dumpster. I cringe and back away. He digs in over the ledge waist deep and pulls out papers in stacks.

I just stand there, glares aimed at his broad back that is rough and manly and makes me grind my teeth. I find my voice. "I can't understand your shitty behavior towards me. What did I do to you?"

He scoffs. He doesn't reply. This angers me more. Without an inkling of thought, I ram into him from behind. He jolts. He breaks his fall on the dumpster loudly. I flinch, almost reaching out to catch him. But then I think _fuck_ _him_ and straighten my back. He turns slowly. And then I know it was a bad idea.

Sparks of fear and shame pierce my stomach and limbs. The look on his face terrifies me. He doesn't say a word and it just makes it worse.

"Well then stop being a dick!" I yell as if he asked. Dogs bark in the distance. I look around me and my nerves spike. He's still looking at me. I huff as my shoulders drop. I pull tighter on my jacket and it makes awkward noises between us.

"I don't fucking know what I did to you but it's pissing me off. You ignore me, you're ruthless and you're down right mean. What's your deal?" My voice escalates and I'm yelling again. The kind of yell that makes those veins down your neck plump and you're red as chili.

He looks around and yanks me under a shadow. "Do you want us to get caught?"

"I don't care! I'm sick of your shit and your verbal bullying and your self-righteous ways. What is up your ass?"

Frantically, he's grabbing at my neck with a hand and covers my mouth with the other. And he's close. "Shut up, Bella." He shakes me.

I fight him. One slap to his hands and five more to his chest. "Get off me!" But he doesn't. His hands find my waist and he dumps me in. Everything goes black and I'm lying on boxes and mushy things inside the dumpster. I let out a scream and he looks in.

"Calm down!" He hisses. I send kicks towards his jaw and he dives out of the way.

"I'll kill you!" I struggle to get up and when I do he pushes me back down again. It only takes one of his heavy hands on my chest and I'm like guck, stuck on the side of the walls. I give up flailing as he watches me grow calm. He just doesn't know I've just found a weapon, hidden behind my back.

He's careful when he speaks. "You're already in. Let's just get things and go. Just...help us out here." I fling the object at his head.

"Ah!" he staggers out of view. I scramble up and look out. He's bent at the waist and holding his eyebrow.

I break into a grin and climb out. "Hah! That's what you get!" He moves around in pain as he curses loudly. He stops to look down at his hand. My breath catches. Blood trails down his eye. "Oh shit." I look at the ground and find my weapon. My mouth falls open. And maybe I shouldn't chuck scraps of metal staplers at people. I seal my lips shut with shame.

His eyes go from his palm to me. They stick. I'm all wide eyes and stutters. He doesn't speak but seethes. I run to him.

"Oh my god, Masen. I'm sorry. I didn't mean...oh my god." I'm on my toes trying to see by his stiff shoulder. I grab at his jacket, neck, and face to get a better look. A gash over his brow oozes deep red. I ball a fist of my sleeve, my fingers, anything to dab the trail. "I'm so sorry. You know I didn't mean it, right? You know, Masen, right?" I hug him around his middle with all my strength. His breathing picks up, trailing over my cheek. I can feel the heat of anger radiating off him. I fill the tense narrow space between us with more blabbering and fumbling hands all over him. "Why do you infuriate me? You make me want to hurt you!"

He doesn't respond. A fog of unease seeps between us. I grow silent. My fingers curl into themselves, retrieving. I look up. He's watching my lips as they slowly close shut to say nothing more. He's close and something's amiss in his darkened eyes.

A siren blips loud. I jump. A police car crawls towards us. Before I let out a shriek, Masen is framing my cheeks and molding his mouth to mine hastily. I inhale deeply, whirling. His scent, the copper of blood and the entirety of him pressed hard against me should be described in lovely words, but I can't think. I'm lost now. I don't just hold his neck but grip it to pull him closer. Our lips slip off just enough to nestle back into a firm lock. An intentional kiss that aims to taste as much as one can in one breath. Like it's been so long you want the whole of it and not just a chaste peck. To any passerby this would look like lovers in heat, not a façade for trespassing.

"Hey!" The cop shouts. "Move it along! This is private property." I stiffen. Masen doesn't let go. I crack my eyes open and his are tightly shut. He tightens his hold. He cups my neck to dip his head. "Hey!" The cop yells again.

I push at his chest until he slips off. And when he does he blinks his stupor away. He licks his lips and looks at me. His hands trail my skin until he let's go altogether.

"The shelter is that way." The cop points.

"Yup," Masen responds. He lifts a hand towards him and grabs mine. My stomach is to my knees as we walk out of the alley. We take a turn down the street away from our cars and the pile of paper we leave behind. Two more rights and the cop is out of sight. That's when he lets go of my hand. His strides are wider and I rush to keep up. My palm tingles now that it's vacant.

"We look homeless," I mutter incredulously. But I get nothing from him. I don't speak until we get to our cars and the cop is gone.

"Go home," he orders.

"You need to clean that up. It can get infected."

"Go home, Bella."

"I have a first aid in the car, just let me…"

"Bella, please!" He shouts. I start. He grabs his hair and breathes. He quickly digs into my pocket to get my keys when I don't move. He opens the door and pushes me in. I hold fast.

"What's all this show, huh? Why?" I ask. The door is wedged between us. "When did you decide to hate me?"

He takes an audible breath and shakes his head. His eyes drop and he pushes himself off. He walks to his car and gets in. I stand there, dumbfounded, still tasting him and wondering what the fuck just happened or why I can't seem to get an ounce out of him.

I fall into the driver's seat and stare out at the windshield. His red retrieving brake lights are far away—scornful, like his eyes.

I stare at the dumpster. The alleyway lights set shadows on it eerily. But it's our special spot now. Forever will be. Because it's where we fought and where he kissed me for the third time ever.

...

I pull the car in park and heave the bundle of papers with employee info. Not everything we'd need, but enough to get us started...and not get us in deep shit with Emmett.

I turn the doorknob and all the papers go flying. I slap a hand to my lips to hold back a scream. Masen sits in the dark on my couch. I hit the lamp to my right. "Jesus."

The gash has bled down his neck in crimson red.

"I don't have a first aid kit and I'm not going to the fucking hospital," he says, almost with a pout. I sigh and drop my jacket on the floor. I wander to the kitchen to get the kit. "Your fucking fault anyway," he mumbles in my wake. I roll my eyes because I heard that.

I pull the ottoman in front of him and pull on gauze. "Well if you weren't such a prick," I argue.

I get to work as much as I can because I don't have a clue what the hell I'm doing. I read the packets I've never turned over in my hands before. I make sure not to add anything that'll sting, though, I should, just to piss him off further. But he looks so pathetic and perfect sitting on my purple couch again like he used to. God, I miss him.

I squirm when I push further between his long legs. His warmth so present. I yearn for the nook. That spot between his jaw and shoulder, cheek pressed to that collar. The best way to watch movies on a Sunday night before starting a new week together. I try to breathe but manage choppy breaths.

I reach with a cotton and clean off his neck with alcohol. He pulls away and I think he'll protest, but he takes the moment to pull off his jacket, leaving the bloody white crew neck on. I stare. There goes the t-shirt again. He stretches his neck back for me and I try not to lean in with teeth and go to town. I pull on the collar instead.

"Whatever, I'll…buy you a new one. Multi-pack at Wal-Mart, big boy size, right?" He rolls his eyes because I'm right.

We're silent for a while but for hisses and mumbled "fucks" on his end. I have to use a butterfly bandage and it just makes him look badass like he's been in a bar fight, not a dumpster brawl. I bite my lip to not laugh.

He sees my face. "Not funny at all."

I sober. I nod. "Too soon."

He sighs and swallows thickly, making his Adam's apple dance. "I don't hate you," he says. I slow my strokes over his eye.

"If that's not hate I cringe to know what it's like to be on your shit list." He makes a face. "Just saying. You do ignoring, shady and snarky really well."

"I learn from the best."

I point at myself. "Me? No. You're self-taught." I pause to gain the courage."I'm just...not used to seeing you sit here like you used to. We'd talk about the dumbest things. Eat crap till we couldn't move. Now you're all 'don't look at me,'" I say, covering the side of my face. "Like I caught the fucking cooties or something."

"Me sitting here? That's all you can think about when you've probably fucked his brains out right where I sit?"

What? I freeze, gauze mid-air. "Whose brains exactly?"

"Come on, Bella. I'm not an idiot."

"No, I mean, if you know so much. Please do tell, how was I? I'm keeping record." He stares at me. His jaw set. "Was I spectacular? Should I make a shrine of our love-making all over this couch and praise the best orgasm of my life?"

"Just stop tip-toeing around the obvious and just say what you mean. You've missed me." He shrugs smugly.

I grab his collar and pull so hard he's forced to brace himself. "I've. Missed. You." I enunciate.

His eyes jump from the left to right of mine. His jaw lets up and relaxes as he watches me. And for a split second, I think he really sees me. The stupid girl who has fallen for a stupid guy and wants no one else. I swear I'll tell him everything that's been heavy in my belly for so long, how it flutters when he's around. The mere touch of him sets it off like a drum and makes my nerves spike like fireworks.

But he smirks. "Does your boyfriend know?" he says. And he kills me. My fingers slip off him. I straighten in my seat. No, childish doesn't deserve my vulnerable confessions. I stand and crumble the pieces of sterile packaging I've wasted on him.

I stand by the kitchen and "Get out" slips from my lips. Not the words I thought I'd ever say to him.

He gets to fuck around with office women every weekend, I get one confusing night with a guy I'm hugely uncomfortable with and I get punished for it? He was the one who pushed me into Ryan's arms with his immaturity and indifference. Well, fuck him.

He doesn't move. His elbows casually rest on his knees. I can feel his glare at the crown of my bowed head.

"You're kicking me out?"

"It's what 'get out' usually means," I mutter.

"You'd kick me out but not him who's the sickest son of a bitch…"

"You don't even know what happens between me and him!" I interrupt.

He scoffs, shakes his head. "Clearly, you don't either."

I grow red. Tension so palpable fills the spacious room. His eyes look away quickly not able to watch me visibly crumble. Like he regrets the words instantly, the moment they slipped from his lips.

My stomach churns. He can't know my thoughts. He can't know my fears. I feel the blood draining out of my face.

"What the fuck does that even mean?" I ask. He stands and walks to the window. The weight of the world on his shoulders. His hands find his hips, resting there.

I want to wring his neck because he doesn't speak. I reach for the closest thing and fling it at him. The cup ricochets off the window and his leg. Plastic doesn't break. "Hey! You don't get to say that and not explain."

After a moment, I watch him dig in his pocket. His keys jingle, breaking the silence. He twirls a single key from the loop until it's free. He turns and places the spare I gave him long ago on the coffee table with a click. He grabs his jacket and walks to the door.

"I don't want to be responsible for what I find behind this door anymore. I won't hold back. I'll kill him next time." He walks out. The door slams behind him making papers fly.

The room is left vacant and quiet but for my pounding heart.

...

* * *

 **A/N:** This Masen is not a normal, sweet loving 'Edward'. RL guys, like this smart ass, aren't usually as...lovely as 'Edward', which is why Masen is a jerk. She's a mess because she is shredded with love and nothing works out. Sooner or later you always wake up from your stupor and get angry...really, really, angry. She'll get there. Watch them melt.


	4. Chapter 4 - Friend

**Chapter 4 - Friend**

 _He knows. He knows._ The words like a chant through my mind, a broken record. Masen knows. He knows what happened. That night. The worst night. Ryan and I, too much liquor, jealousy, and confusion. I can't remember how it ended yet _he knows._

I couldn't sleep. After he left, I stayed up, wide awake, ears ringing with the sound of my heart taking up the silence. I laid in bed and stared at the open door to the bedroom. That key, visible from where I hid under sheets, gleaming with reflections from the kitchen light. _He knows._

It's Monday and I really thought about calling in sick. But the papers all over the living room needed to be signed in. I sit at my desk. It's 8 a.m. No one is in yet. I'm getting a grip. I'm trying to find a level of calm, the notch before a breakdown, at least there, to make it through the day.

It's 8:30, I'm not there yet. The elevator bings far and I tense. I watch Jane walk in as I hide behind my monitor. I breathe a little, it's just her. But that's just it. It's her. She looks at me and I'm already crying. I'm letting it all out. She rushes to me and pulls me to the copy room and closes the door. I tell her everything in 5 minutes. The hiccups and the snot. I use blank copy paper to blow my nose. She hasn't even got a word in yet, just listening.

"What does it mean, huh? What the hell does it mean?" I pull at my hair. My pleated skirt twirls and lifts under my crop top with every flailing limb. She pats it down to hide my underwear from view and just nods in understanding—what real friends do. She sighs. Looks at the floor. The door opens. I turn to hide my face. It's Jackson from finance. I breathe. He leaves after picking up a sheet.

"Well," Jane's first word. "It means...that he, I guess he saw something?"

"No, no, no." I cover my ears "Don't say it." But she holds my arm away.

"That night you left with Ryan, I remember, I was at the bar and saw him looking around across the room. Jess was on him and pretty much chafing his leg with her pussy where he sat. But he was looking around. He spotted me and pushed Jess off him. He made his way to the bar and asked me about you." She shrugs. "I was angry just like you, I didn't tell him anything. Ryan was gone so he put two and two together. I didn't see him after that."

We were all angry. Kate, Jane and I watched the whole night at our table as Masen mingled. I told them about the night before, how it finally happened, how he kissed me. But then we watched as he flirted with other women. I was mortified. The girls were nice enough to keep their lips sealed. Shots were placed in front of me wordlessly to forget the night...until Ryan came and sat beside me.

I'm about to ask her fifty questions when Jackson walks in again and stares like a nosy bastard. I change the subject. "This period is just fucking killing me, it's making me crazy." His eyes pop, he avoids my face and quickly gets what he needs and runs out like I've got a bloody tampon in my hand.

Jane continues without a beat when the door closes. "If he had your key, which by the way what woman gives a key to a guy she's not dating, better yet, at all!"

"Please don't judge me…I'm vulnerable right now," I interrupt but she keeps going.

"And then you forget about it and take Ryan home, luckiest bitch in the world by the way, and leave the door basically open for the guy you're not dating to just walk right the fuck in!"

"Oh god."

"Tangled limbs. Ryan's naked ass, your untrimmed bush, and floppy tits. Who knows what the poor man saw!" I'm covering my face. Jackson pokes his head in. "Oh my god," Jane growls.

"I'm sorry...should I knock?" he asks from the door. Jane huffs. I can't see as my hands still remain shamefully over my face.

"Just work! Go, be a good productive employee!" She yells. I hear the door slowly creaking closed after haste footsteps.

"I'm gonna die. I'm gonna have a heart attack. This is how it feels to have a stroke!" I dig nails into my neck.

"Jesus. Look..." She snatches my hands away. "It can't be that bad. Tell me what happened that night. Did you let Ryan do...all the things?" Her brows wiggle.

I cringe. "More like I...can't remember anything. More like, I remember my bed and him and then, literally, nothing else!" She stares.

"Nothing?"

"Nada."

"Not even his dick?"

"Jane!" I screech.

She stares some more. The door cracks open. Jane grabs the fresh printouts and slips them through the crack. She bangs a fist on the door and leans all her 5'9, lean, platinum blonde, model like weight on it. A mumbled thank you comes from the other side. "Well, you were wasted," she says.

"Yah, no shit. But I've broken my head trying to remember something. And somehow Masen knows everything? My _can't even_ level is at a thousand percent right now."

Jane thinks. I pace the gap between the Xerox machine to the recycling bin.

"This is going to be a tall glass, straight jacket suggestion, but you've gotta talk to Masen. The man needs to elaborate...in every aspect. Fuck him and then get info out of him. You leave Ryan to me."

I roll my eyes. "What are you going to do to Ryan?"

She points a finger. "Everything, I'm gonna _do_ Ryan. And then you, Kate and I will debrief over drinks tonight."

"How is sleeping with both guilty men going to help any?"

"It won't. But you sure as fuck need to jump that saddle asap. Sick of seeing you and Masen prancing around each other like hungry hyenas. Jump his bone already!" I blush picturing that very thought. Jane never made more sense.

A tentative knock at the door makes of us groan. Jane steps out and pushes Jackson out of the way.

The moment I leave the copy room, after watching Jane lock Jackson inside, I walk into a wall. My bowed head bumps into Masen's chest and he steadies me with warm hands at my waist. Burning skin on mine. I freak. I do a self-defensive move where I push both his arms away swiftly. His hands curl into themselves and into his pockets.

I take a few steps back. I look up at him. And then I shouldn't have. He stands there in all his olive-green glory that usually equates to a good day for me. I love him in soft thermals. But he scans my face and _he knows_. The flush over my cheeks and blotchy eyes are evidence that I've been a mess. I don't know if he's been standing out here the entire time or passing by. I flush deeper thinking he was listening. Jane jumps right in to distract him while I run away. I love her.

"Morning handsome. Drinks tonight, you coming?" She invites him. I turn to glare at her. She winks. I hate her. I walk away in time to miss his response.

I bundle all the employee sheets from my desk and head to the conference room for our daily updates. Emmett is already in place with the rest of the crew and Jane close by. I barely listen to anything as I grip the pile pressed to my chest.

My skin crawls. A faint touch sends my nerves humming all over. Ryan steps into the room behind me and grazes my thigh just below my hem. My boot pulls back and bangs a steel toe into his shin. He flinches but doesn't make a noise. I turn back to the front of the room. _Did I just do that?_ I did. I really did. And it felt great. I can sense him grinding his teeth through the pain close behind me. Jane heard the scuffle and quickly turns to hide a guffaw.

The meeting continues with Ben explaining what he did yesterday, what he'll do today and his blockers. Sam is going on house visits with Daniel. Jane and Jess are meeting with employees from a factory to plan the protest in two days.

That's the best part of a project. People gather early in the morning of all colors, from different cultures, fluent in multiple languages, all to boycott in solidarity the job they all share. Everyone chats about who will be there and who will bring the speakers and picket signs. The room buzzes with excitement. But not me.

When the line moves down to me for further updates, everyone naturally looks over. I can't speak. The booming baritone close behind me explains for us both. I start slightly when he speaks. Masen is nearly pressed to my back, towering over my head, I didn't notice. He extends an arm around my front to pry the sheets out of my death grip. He tosses it on the table and in the process closes the gap between us.

"Thanks to Bella diving in, we got enough leads." He praises. The group grins. Some chuckle. A few clap here and there. The girls cringe from experience. Jane's eyes grow wide and Jess glares at Masen. I take a step away from her glaring focus behind me.

"Way to go, Mama," Ben says from across the room. I barely manage a smirk. Daniel lifts a fist from under his crossed arms for me to bop with mine. I'm one of the guys. I always prided myself for that secretly. I manage a sheepish shrug.

Everything dies down eventually. Emmett continues down the line of co-workers for their updates. All the while, I feel heat down my spine. He leans against the door jamb where his tall frame is inappropriately close for a work meeting. And he lied. Why would he say something nice after all the rash behavior? The usual would be him sharing full details on the cop and cracking jokes about me with sprinkled exaggerations. He kisses and he tells all the time. But does he regret it this time? My brain turns non-stop. And he's there, silently hovering, unaware.

The meeting runs long. Every second I grow more tense wishing it would end already. Updates turn to conversations, then to laughter. I want to scream. Because the moment I feel his warm breath clouding my judgment and my shoulder, I feel I'll crumble. I angrily move away from him. But Soon enough I feel crowded again. So I lean against the wall beside me. I end up tucked beside him as he essentially blocks Ryan with his body.

I watch the body language and notice what's going on here. Masen looks down at me but keeps his focus up front. His jaw sharpens as he feels me glaring up at him. I take a peek at Ryan over his shoulder and he looks pissed. He shifts his weight away to not collide shoulders. Masen takes the chance and moves in further, leaning an arm by my head. And suddenly, I've had enough. I wedge beneath his arm and walk out. The hell with this shit.

I sit at my desk and tap on my laptop keys a little too hard. I try with all my might not to look up when I feel his eyes on me from the doorway. He doesn't hide it. He could give a shit who notices his obvious fascination today. And it definitely isn't Jess.

Jane sends me a text from the very room. Vulgar emojis do what I only dream about when I'm in bed with visions of the olive-green asshole.

"Two for you, one for me." Kate places a Manhattan and a Chardonnay in front of me. She sips on a glass for herself. I reach for the ebony liquid.

"Take me away, 'hattan." One long gulp.

"Oh calm down. He's not coming," Jane waves a hand. I'm giving her the silent treatment but still accepting her purchased drinks.

Kate settles beside me. "That was fucked up. I would gut you if you did that to me," she tells her. It just makes her roll her eyes.

"Oh for god's sake, I was trying to just get these two to finally get over themselves already. Someone needs to push them," she argues. Kate nods and shrugs in agreement.

"Whatever. I swear I'll walk out." I warn. I've told them ten times. I even went home where they followed and stayed at the door until I grabbed my purse.

"Oh please. Your problem is not a problem. You have two gorgeous men behind your ass." Jane slurs with a scoff. She's already three cocktails in. "Dammit, I need food." She looks for the poor waiter she flirts with.

"Heifer has words. Heifer wanna eat." I mumble and take another long gulp. Jane gasps and guffaws loudly. Kate hiccups her drink and coughs it all over the table.

"You are ungrateful." Jane points.

"I've only ever wanted one. You know that." I busy myself with a fingernail. I'm really angry but I don't want to show it. I'm not like her. She can take and lose men at a drop of a panty. And she's gorgeous so it's not like she has to try. But I knew she was cool the moment she noticed my fidgets with my hair, or doe eyes when Masen was around, she stopped trying to pursue him so I could. I'm grateful because I wouldn't have stood a chance.

"But that other one you don't want sure is getting a lot more." Kate.

My stomach churns. But I suck my teeth to play indifference. "He didn't get shit."

"Are you sure?" She asks and her expression is genuine and deeply concerned. Jane waits for my answer.

I look at my drink and swirl it in the glass. "I didn't know." I cringe. "So, I got dressed and ran to the pharmacy…"

"Oh good," Kate says with a nod.

"But then…" I seal my lips. I shouldn't say the rest.

Jane and Kate lean in. "But then...what?" They say in unison.

I sigh and rub my eyes. "Alright so, I have my hands full and trying to get to the register and then of all people in the universe I bump into Masen. The boxes go flying everywhere and he's picking them up off the floor. He hands them over and finds the box. I snatch it off his hands but it's too late. I mean why would he be there? It's not even in his neighborhood!"

They stare. "I swear this is like something out of a horror movie," I mumble.

"Or a Hallmark movie," Kate says and presses her lips together to not laugh. But Jane does.

"Wow, that's pretty embarrassing." Jane

"Yeah." Kate nods

"Thanks for the empathy!"

Kate reaches to grab my hand. "What did he say and do?"

"I was so… just so angry and heartbroken because why did it have to be him?" I run shaky fingers through my rumpled hair. "I practically ran away. Completely ignored him. Didn't say a word. He was juggling two Starbucks cups in his hand so maybe he was meeting someone? Which just about...killed me."

My heart picks up when I look up. The girls are still looking at me but I see Ryan walk up to the bar a yard away. There's no way he won't see us. But for now, he leans on the bar and looks at the tv above as he waits for his drink.

"Shit," I whisper. They both look.

"Man, I'd love to bite into that," Jane says biting a finger. Kate whistles low. They watch as he leans over the bar, his jean clad ass pointed our way. His sleek hair shines from the low bar lights. He looks so handsome and together in his rolled up sleeve button up. He does roll ups really well.

All I can think about are Masen's words Sick son of a bitch. I sigh. This isn't going to end well. Might as well sit here and accept it. I can't hide under the table anyway. My stomach churns when his head turns our way and then when he walks to our table. Jane quickly moves into the booth to give him room.

"Ladies," he says. He sets his neat scotch down in front of him. Urgh, how does he just do that? Just waltz in here and whirl women's senses with one word. I glance at Kate and Jane and their eyes are sparkling. I want to smack sense back in place, but I'm watching, too.

His eyes are stuck to me, completely overlooking the two drooling predators. I squirm because I sure as hell haven't talked to him since I ditched him at the restaurant, let alone the kick to the shin. His smirk is seductive but I can see the malice behind it. He's pissed and he will confront me—it's only a matter of time. I never thought awkward would feel this way.

The trio is talking animatedly. The girls laugh heartedly at his sarcasm and jokes. He wraps his arm around Jane's shoulder and it takes all of me not to roll my eyes and scoff.

I climb the seat of my dead-end booth and jump over the back. They look up. "Bathroom." I walk away.

"Aw, sneaking home already?" Ryan taunts over the cacophony of the room.

I stop and turn back because fuck him. "Actually, no, I like the company I came with tonight. Promise I'll be back." I give him a wink. His nostrils flare enough to mean plenty.

I feel like a trillion bucks. The problem is, as I'm crossing the room, Masen walks into the bar with two blondes. Sounds like a bad joke waiting to happen. I dodge behind tall people at the bar before he sees me. By a crook of an arm, I watch him scan the room.

That's when I hear a throat clearing above me. "Err...can I help you with anything?"

I straighten "Oh, no sorry," I scramble to say. I snatch my hand back as I was inappropriately holding a strangers forearm. Jesus Bella. "Just wanted to order an...oh my god!"

I look into familiar eyes. Serrano smiles. "An ' _oh my god'_? Are those good here?" he asks. I can't answer. "I'm great. Thanks for asking, Bell Pepper." The familiar endearment makes me smile and melt from my frozen state. I take all of him in. He's still the same but...older. And more…

"Gorgeous." I blurt. No filter. He laughs. His arms are already beckoning me to fold right into his 6 foot, tan and handsome frame. And I do. I really do.

I grip his hair and do a little rub with my fingers like I used to. The midnight blue strands were always so thick and silky, just like his mom's and sisters—and just like his dog. I'd tease him relentlessly.

We break apart. "How's your mom?" We ask simultaneously. I giggle.

I keep my hands on his shoulders. "You first."

"She's…" and his smile skews. "On her second round of chemo."

"No!" He shrugs but keeps a light grin in place. "Poor baby." I press him to me again. He chuckles against my neck.

"That pickup line works every time," he says through the muffle. I slap his back. The hug lingers. "You realize I'm not the one on chemo, right?"

"Yes well, next time you see her you pass along the hug." I kiss his ear.

He pulls back and scrunches up his lips cutely. "Hmm, I don't think I can pass along a kiss like that either." He taps his lips with an index. "Maybe we should reiterate for better reference."

I slap his cheek lightly. "Pass that along."

"Ouch. And rude."

"How the hell are you? What are you doing here?" My heart wants to burst. I didn't realize I really needed to see someone familiar that isn't a co-worker. A childhood friend who lived next door and shared his tree house and Pop Rocks candy.

"Work event," he explains. "A kickoff for the new fiscal year. They make us do group workshops." He makes a face.

"Dang, in Boston? That's an expensive way to network."

He shrugs. "I get free lobster."

I nod. "Worth it then."

He always was a fan of food. The baby pot belly never did go away until high school. Then I didn't talk to him at all through sophomore and junior year. He was cool and dating more. I punched him at a party one night after a confrontation and he drove me home. That was the end of our dry spell. Senior year went well, not to mention the free carpools that saved my ass from taking the bus with drooling freshmen.

"I've missed you, Pepper." He pulls me around my waist. I sigh.

"I know. It sucks being an adult. Let's just go back to your old roof top to smoke and record our favorite songs off the radio."

"Rewind, stop and play—all day. Awesome times."

"Fantastic. Still have the mix tape somewhere."

He smiles. "You always were a hoarder. How's...life?"

I shrug. "All work no play. Not sure if I want to be a union organizer for long. It drains."

"So quit. Come live with me in Portland. Become a vegan, bagel eating, hipster, graphic designer and make butt loads," he says.

I laugh because he just described himself. I take him all in. The beard and hair are coiffed and nicely trimmed. He has converse tucked under fitted jeans, a rugged graphic T-shirt under a blazer hiding enough tattoos to cover that lean chest of his. I would know, I went with him for the first few. This is his everyday work attire. If I could mesh his personality (and his grooming habits) on Masen's...everything, I would jump his bones. No warnings. No permission.

Speaking of the devil. A throat clears. A hand with a drink in it wedges between us. I step back away from Serrano. We both look up.

"Would you please stop leaving your drinks unattended around the bar?" Masen sneers. Heavy glass thumps on the bar next me. He places the wine glass roughly by the Manhattan. He cuts his eyes to Serrano and then me. He walks away.

Instantly, I feel prickles all over. Maybe of shame, anger or the fact that I'm completely turned on right now. Have I mentioned how ridiculously sexy he is when he's angry? Well, I just did.

"Jealous boyfriend?" Serrano speaks. He's still looking after Masen.

I scoff. "He wishes." Instant shame reddens my cheeks as I know that's a lie. I'm the wishing fool. Serrano looks taken aback because an answer like that is so unlike me.

"That complicated, eh?"

"Whatever." I fidget with his fingers on his lap. For a moment we watch the table across the room with Masen, Jane, and Kate now chatting with the two blondes. Ryan is currently looking down the blouse of blonde number 1.

"Subtle," Serrano murmurs as we both watch.

I look away as Masen's eyes pierce mine, still red angry where he sits. "He's the complication," I explain about the boob-ogler.

"That douche bag? Bella, please tell me you didn't. The level of asshole in that guy is visible from way over here." I look away from his horrified expression.

"It's not…" I shake my head. I don't know what to say.

Serrano shoves the wine in my hand and grabs the other drink. "Come on. This should be fun." He pulls me towards the group and I freak.

"No! Just leave it!" I whisper-yell. I pull on his hand but he's strong and stubborn like he's always been. One flaw about Serrano is he loves revenge and fucking with others until he pushes every button. My feet skid over the wooden floors as I'm dragged. I use all my strength to pull back, but nothing. We arrive. Everyone looks up. I hide behind his back.

"So I take it you all work with Bella?" He asks. Jane smiles.

"We sure do. I hope she's only said good things?" She moves further into the booth to leave him room.

"Not one. Horrible things, actually."

I try not to laugh. But Jane and Kate do. Serrano takes the free spot, making the booth complete. Masen is across, at the end, Serrano on the other. I awkwardly stand at the waitress' spot. I tug my hair behind my red ears and cradle my drink in my hands.

Masen begins to push at the blondes to make room but Serrano takes the chance. I'm shoved on his lap, wedged between his chest and the table. I turn a new shade of red. I steady my elbows on the sticky surface to cover my mouth as it has fallen open. I bite my tongue to hold back the hysterics. Laugh or cry, I can't figure out which to do.

Masen settles back into his spot, shoulders slumped suddenly, as he watches every movement. The bounce as Serrano shifts under me, his arm curling under my chest, the light caresses over my arm or subconsciously trailing over my thigh. These touches look intimate but don't feel like such. I know Serrano well. He holds a conversation with the entire table but he's scheming, boiling blood that runs through veins across the way.

And I'm thoroughly enjoying every moment of it. I should feel bad. This should feel wrong. But when his arm sneaks behind blonde number 2 and pulls her close, I know it's worth every uncomfortable stroke under Serrano's wandering hands.

My tightened chest eases more. My fingers uncurl from my palms. I listen to the conversation around me a little more. I take a drink and welcome the warming liquor down my throat, settling like fire in my belly, up my chest and neck. Or maybe it's his gaze I feel right now that does this. I look over. It takes all of me to look up, to look into his eyes. But I do and then I'm caught in that net, I can't escape.

I don't understand him. I want to say it out loud, interrupt the laughter and accuse him of being just about the worst friend I've ever had. For not being there when I needed him. For keeping secrets that I don't even know I should keep, that are supposed to be mine.

I guess he can read every word boiling in me because he looks away. He thumbs a bottle cap and looks at that. He focuses on the red imprint of its metal edges carved into his skin. I'd give anything to be in that head of his.

"Right, Bell Pepper?" I turn to Serrano. He's looking at me, eyes mischievous and grinning. Ryan chuckles at the name.

"What?"

"That we used to date. She's my ex," he says looking at everyone. I can't speak. "She broke up with me. Through a letter." He laughs.

"Aww," Jane coos. "Such a heartbreaker."

"I didn't want to let go. College, two different states. We tried for a while but…" He shakes his head. "We planned to meet this weekend so I can see her mom again." I chuckle incredulously, but it just looks like I'm lost in memories. Lies. He's so good, it's scary.

"Yeah, she cannot wait to see you again." I cover my laugh with a sip. I see a heated glare over the rim of my glass from across the way. I finish off the last bit and reach for the Chardonnay where Serrano left it by my end. But I don't get to it quick enough. Masen snatches it up and gulps it down. When he's done, he puts it back by my hand. He turns to blonde number 2 and they converse quietly. Like nothing. Like he wasn't a jerk just now.

Serrano is still going on about us and our pseudo-relationship, no one notices Masen's stunt, nor the smug grin on his face. You'd think it was something the blonde said but I'd recognize that grin anywhere, it's a _fuck you_.

I feel Serrano squeeze around my ribs. He said something. Everyone is looking at me for a response. I turn my head back and lips are inches away. I kiss my friend. One long pull of lips between mine. Beard tickling, sweet scent of liquor through his parted mouth.

The table goes silent. Jane's mouth falls open. Kate guffaws loud.

"I need a drink. Do you want anything?"

Serrano just shakes his head dumbly. I stand and leave him at the booth.

...

* * *

 **A/N:** Guys, this will get worse and worse until it gets better. That's how stories go, right? Just enjoy the awkward stage of an ominous relationship. And there's more to the story. Thanks for your lovely, and _super_ helpful reviews.


	5. Chapter 5 - Knight

**Chapter 5 - Knight**

Well into the night I'm bouncing around to the music in the middle of the dance floor; eyes closed, arms flailing, heart as light as a feather. No worries. No shame. Serrano is here and dancing with me. The "I love yous" flow easily through slurred speech. The hug sessions in the middle of the dance floor, or the bar, because there is no dance floor. I didn't know how much I've missed him. The night is hazy. Too much for a Monday night.

I ignore everyone. Fuck the world and all troubles in it. I dance and this is where I want to be. I point my index and middle finger at my eyes, and then his. "You and me, baby. That's it. No one else."

Serrano waves an arm. "Yes. Fuck everyone else. You gonna come with me. You can sleep on my bed. I have closet space and a li'l slot for your toothbrush. Baby, You could have it all."

I nod through the speech. "Done deal. Let's go get my stuff. C'mon."

He pulls me back into his sweaty shirt, sans jacket, probably bunched on the floor somewhere. "Wait, just...let's hug this out. Let's seal the deal with a hug."

"Kay." I settle back into that and it feels like home already. "God, Justin Bieber is so right. He speaks to my heart," I say as we sway.

He nods over my head. "The Biebs. He can have my dick, my manhood, my graphic pens; all of it."

"Don't let him have it all. I'd like some, please." I pinch a muscular pec.

"Whatever you want, Bell Pepper. But first let me go change the tank. Gotta...drain the pickle juice. Poison the snake, babe."

"No. Once you pee, you won't be able to stop. That's the rule! Don't they know the rule in Portland?" I pull him, but he shakes me off. He's doing a dance and trying not to touch his junk. "Come back to me! Promise you'll come back to me!" But he's gone and I'm alone.

I look around. I spot the girls. I haven't talked to them all night. Some guys I don't know surround them at the booth. Nope, I'm not going there. I look around some more. I can't find olive green anywhere. Not that I've been looking, or wondering, or looking from over Serrano's shoulder. Fuck him. I've decided on the fourth Kamikaze that I'm done. I turn to my bar stool and maybe I could take a power nap. Yes, just a micro one. I lay my head on the cool, sticky wood and this is perfect.

"I'm back," says the baritone voice. I pop up. I'm encased in warmth and arms. I sigh. I rest my head on his shoulder. I reach back, pat his crotch with a hand.

"That was fast." I open my eyes and Serrano is on the other side of the bar talking to someone. Wait. The cologne wafts to my nostrils. My stomach does back flips. I shoot off the stool and turn.

"Bella." Ryan. "You're having fun tonight." I try to step away but the bar is at my back.

"Well, until you came."

"What? You don't like to see me come?"

I sigh. Words swim in my foggy brain. I look for Serrano, but his back is turned from me. "Look, I know you're mad at me. I'm sorry for leaving you at...at the place," I slur. "It's not—"

His fists go on the bar on either side of me. "Kiss me and I'll forgive you."

"Jesus, what is your obsession? There are, like, two full women who would love to have even half of you. So, just go. Stick your...quarter in them slots." I can't help but laugh. I got jokes. Wait until I tell Serrano.

He presses into my lower half. Too close. Definitely less than a quarter. At best, an eighth. Jane will be so disappointed. I snort loud.

"Why do you keep avoiding me?"

"Why do you keep insisting?"

"You invite some guy and kiss him to try to make me jealous."

I reach for a glass to my right, grip it real tight. All the laughter dies inside. The room spins. It turns and moves sideways.

"Ryan ... I ... um. You're real cool. You're like, really clean and ... pretty. And you know, you brush your hair and ... wax, I'm sure, but I like plump and brawny, you know? Beards, testosterone, stains, and holes in shirts. I'm just not that into you. Do you know that movie?" Kill him with kindness, but my heart is pounding.

I casually look around me. There's nobody around. My head rolls back. The bar lights look right back at me like a dream when you're going into a tunnel. Then, there are lips on me. His nose under my ear, tucked there. I feel disgust, he trails down my neck. My insides moving up my esophagus.

I pivot his chin away with the heel of my hand. "Not an invitation. No." I push and push at his chest. The music's too loud. I crack an eye open, and I'm suddenly on my bed. My lamp and window curtains are visible. I remember this. I hyperventilate. My nails dig into his skin; deep, until blood pebbles.

Then, I swing my arm as hard as I can.

The bang is so loud. Bones make a cracking sound. I'm jostled hard. The bar. The floor. My hands shoot out to break my fall. Glass is all over. Wooden floors are wet with liquor. Yelps over the music. Sudden movements. Chatting grows quiet but for shouts and hollers. My eyes crack open. All I see are shoes shuffling. Ankles at an angle; pushing, charging. Olive green is wrinkled fabric over straining muscles.

Masen is on him. Ryan is red. His hair is in disarray. Blood spills down his chin. Chairs scratch over floors. Ryan's back lands on a table top. People quickly dive out the way. Other guys, on the ready, push at their dates and watch with tight fists. Woots and hollers witnessing a cliche, bar fight.

The bartender jumps over the bar and runs for the round cloud of flailing limbs and flying fists. His attempt at pulling Masen off is null. Other men step in. Masen's shirt rides up to his chest when they pull him. His belt buckle shines even in the dim light. It's nowhere close to a knight in that kind of armor, but in my hazy eyes he is. All my antics come to a full stop. Sobriety and shame charge in.

The thick blood all over Ryan's face gets me to move, to panic. Masen somehow slips out of their hold and rushes back. I stand up. I watch him beat him to a pulp over the blood.

"Stop it! You'll kill him! You'll kill him." I crawl to them when my legs don't seem to work. Down I go to my knees again.

I pull on his thermal and it's fire against my palm. That fist of his is so high up over his head about to connect.

"Edward!" I scream. His swollen hand is caught midair. They pull him away.

Serrano grabs me. The girls are at my side in a rush. The bar is quiet. Everyone is watching.

This is what I've done.

Ryan shoots up off the floor. The blood trails down his nose. He spits. A splat on wood grain. Jane pulls him back before he attempts to move. Masen watches and there's not an ounce of exertion present over his features. Blank. Waiting. He pulls away from the hold of three men. He glances back. He's cool, calm, and nods once. His arms go free.

"Watch your back," Ryan says in warning. He smoothes down his hair and walks toward the door where Jane leads him.

I'm frozen. Tears are flowing already. My vision is blurred but that gash on the side of Ryan's head is oozing red. It's obvious. I look down at my hand and blood stains there.

"Bella, you okay?" Serrano holds my hand up. "Shit. You broke the glass on his head."

Kate pulls a seat for me to sit. They hover and ask so many questions. Serrano has napkins from people close by. He dabs and dabs at cuts, but I only have eyes for olive green. Waves of hair splayed over his forehead. His neck is red with the struggle, but his eyes are far and vacant. He watches me. He pulls out his wallet, slips a few bills out, and places them on the bar before grabbing his tweed coat.

Serrano stands from his crouch. He blocks his advance my way.

"Excuse me," Masen pardons calmly. He waits for Serrano to move. He takes a step, but they do a dance of defense and offense. "Serrano, was it?" he asks. My friend nods once. "It was great meeting you, but no one here is in a legal condition to drive. I'll go ahead and take her home if that's alright with you."

Serrano is quiet. They stare at one another. The music blares on. The bartender is a step away, making sure Masen leaves. The crowd gets louder, tables and chairs are righted. Some laugh and watch, some lose interest altogether. When Serrano steps away I'm alert, sober, and know exactly what will happen. My stomach plummets with nerves. I'm leaving with Masen. That thought has never seemed so frightening. This is like a parent picking up all of your mess and taking you home to explode and deal with your sorry ass at home.

"Get up, go get your stuff," he orders me. I do exactly as he says. I tighten my hold on the ball of napkins and turn in circles trying to find my purse. Kate hops over to the other side of the bar and rushes back. I grab her wrist and tell her to save me with a desperate look alone.

"You know what?" she says. "I think I'll go, too. Do you mind taking me home?" She looks to Masen. "It's just ... it's on the way."

"I give you ten seconds to get your shit." He grabs my arm and escorts me out.

I look over my shoulder. Serrano stands watching. Nothing I can do at this point but try to keep my steps sharp and not stagger.

The cold air hits my cheeks like bricks. I breathe life in. Once I'm in the cabin with him I'll be caged in awkward silence that will be louder than the chaos we left behind. I'm practically running, he's walking so fast. I trip on a pavement crack. My head feels like a balloon. He catches me before I hit cement and hoists me against his car as he struggles with the old lock.

Then there's this dilemma. The key is too old and the door handle too stiff to make this moment brief. He's close. I get to watch him. A street light is above and yellow, enough to brighten the furrow in his brows. This is second time I've been pinned beneath a man tonight. The difference now is he's not a quarter or an eighth, but a perfect whole, and I don't want him to pull away.

I watch the worry lines appear over his face. His jaw sharpens and relaxes. His cheekbones tremble under suppressed anger and the pressure it takes to loosen the shitty door. It just won't let up and help him out. I know it's what he's thinking.

Finally, it opens. He pulls on it with force. Just like I'd shamefully hoped, he doesn't pull away. I'm locked in his gaze, the one that hasn't relaxed or forgiven me.

"Don't you fucking think about it," he seethes. And that's when I know, if I wasn't this intoxicated I wouldn't have the courage to lean in, infinitesimally, toward his lips. I would stop myself. I wouldn't even think about it. He's wrong about that; I wasn't thinking at all. I didn't even notice.

He shoves me into the passenger seat and pulls my legs in. Kate comes running and helps herself to the back seat.

"Where's Jane?" he asks from the driver's seat.

"With, uh…" Kate fumbles for a reply.

"Forget it. Don't want to know." He hits the gas and off we go.

The ride is silent. The bounce of cushioned seats, his saturated scent I love so much, and the rumble of the motor aren't enough to put me at ease. Kate sneaks her hand by the head rest and squeezes my shoulder. I hold on to that hand with all the strength I can muster. But it doesn't last long. Her apartment is comically close, and the car is quickly finding a spot by the curb. She mumbles a thanks and jumps out. My fingers are white hanging onto the window pane as I watch her go. She looks back once.

He drives and he drives. I can barely focus on the street signs to notice where we're going. I dare not look at him. The cabin is warm and I can't keep my eyes open long enough.

Silence is deafening but for a pin drop. Drip, drip, drip on old leather. He hears it. He pulls over. He switches on the overhead light, and I go to cover my eyes. It's not a pin drop, but drips of blood flowing down my wrist and everything.

He pulls on my hand and all the napkins. "Fuck." He turns the car around.

The next time I open my eyes he's pulling me out of the car, and into sliding doors. Fluorescent lights are above, nurses all around, and I'm his sister. I hear him explain and feel his arms support. My head spins. I throw up in a pink basin. My hand fucking throbs. I start awake in pain. I'm on a gurney. My wrist is restrained. I'm poked with needles and his face is always there when I blink.

"Fuck." Me saying this now, not him.

He glances up at me and looks away. Yeah, still angry. He watches the stitches weave in and out and he hold my legs down. Whispers of "So sweet of you to help your sister." _Sister. Your sister._ If my head wasn't in a roller coaster ride already, I'd roll my eyes to the back of my head.

Sleep. Sleep. Sleep consumes me. I'm in his car, and I wish he'd drive forever.

He pushes into my apartment door, my set of keys in his hand. He pulls me to my bedroom. I find my bed and crawl into it. I drift for a second but he's tugging my arm again.

"I'm fine," I snap. I sit up. I snatch a night shirt off his hand to dress myself, but it isn't easy. The room spins. My hand, under balls of gauze and thread, is immobile.

I fumble with the buckle of my pleated skirt. I give up to close my eyes again, but I'm pulled to my feet. He sighs and tugs until the skirt pools beneath me.

"I said I was fine!" I push at his hands. My breathing picks up. The lamp is behind him, the window curtains the same; like a nightmare. I remember. That man in this room. I blink and Masen appears in front of me instead.

"Don't flatter yourself. I'm not into shit-faced women. It isn't me you have to be worried about," he spits.

Anger boils in me. My eyes prickle and I shove him hard. "Get out. Just leave! I don't want you here. I didn't ask you to be here!" My voice cracks. I throw a shoe and anything I can find. He doesn't have to dive out of the way, my aim is completely off.

"No, you're right. Who the fuck am I kidding?" he says. His fingers dig at his temples as he enunciates. He storms out.

I panic. I run after him. "Wait, wait, wait! Masen, please!" I reach his back, wrap myself around his neck, and I'm climbing him. He catches his footing before we go tumbling down.

"Bella." He tugs at my arms.

"Please don't go, don't go. I'm sorry, please," I beg like a maniac holding on for dear life.

He sighs and grows quiet. He leans on the front door with both hands to hold my weight. All the while, I whisper all the sorrow and all the pleas he can take.

After it seems like hours, he lets go of the door. Slowly, he takes a step into the living room. Slowly, I'm winning.

I'm like a backpack strapped to him; my cheek pressed to his nape, his curls tickling my nose as I sniffle at tears dripping onto him.

"Tonight wasn't the first time you fought with him, was it?" It takes a moment but he shakes his head. He steps deeper into the living room and my heart pounds as I know he'll stay.

I vow, this moment, the second it takes for him to walk through the hallway to my bedroom door, that I'll never let go. I love him. I mouth it on his skin where his hair meets his neck, and I dare to leave a kiss there.

He turns me to the bed and waits for me to detach. I do, sheepishly. He sits and buries his face in his hands. I bury mine in pillows.

"What happened that night? You have to tell me," I plead. I take a peek from under folds of plush.

He's quiet.

Tears wet my pillow. I try not to make a sound but his silence speaks volumes. My breath hitches, a sob slips out. "That bad, huh?" I nod. I ready myself for the worst. I don't hold back the sobs because fuck it. Apparently he's seen it all. A skirt and an underwear beneath are nothing compared to what he's seen. "God."

He sighs. "Calm down."

"I can't calm down. Don't you see this is tearing me apart?" A staggered breath. "It teared us apart. And now...now you don't want me anymore."

He chuckles once. All the humor left out of it. "Bella, you're drunk. You're saying ridiculous things. Go to sleep."

"I feel like I died that night. That morning, I was dead. All for a stupid, stupid bet."

He cuts his eyes back to me. "What bet?"

I shake my head. I can't. I can't say it. I'm too ashamed. He pulls the pillow from my face.

"Tell me."

"It's stupid." He waits. I curl up on my side and grab my toes to keep my hands occupied. I stare at every painted digit and count the piggies. "Jane and Kate dared me to flirt with Ryan to piss you off, and…then it went too far."

He turns away and laughs. "You're right, that was stupid. That's barely a bet."

I sit up. "It's not funny."

"Fine. Why did you do it?"

"Because you were being a dick! Flirting with all those bitches at the bar—Kate's words, not mine. How mortifying! After I told them all about the night before."

He's suddenly angry and turns to me. "How many times have I told you not to trust Jane? I told you to stop talking to her."

"Oh my God!" I dive back into my pillows and bounce up to look at him. "You're delusional. She didn't get Sam fired. He got into trouble with the cops all by himself."

"She used him. It was her shit they found in his truck. He was just so over his head. He did anything she said."

"That's the most outrageous thing—"

He grabs the hem of my shirt and pulls. "You have no idea what you're talking about. Of course she's been filling up your brain! If you don't have a clue, don't defend her!"

"I'm too drunk for this shit!"

"That's the problem, isn't it? You always get fucked, and then you really get fucked and cry about it after."

I freeze. I'm so horrified, I can't speak.

He lets go. He opens his mouth and nothing comes out. He looks away.

"So, that's it. That's what happened?"

He shakes his head. He takes a deep breath. "The reason I keep telling you to stay away from Jane is because she was in on it. She gave you the drink."

I'm confused. "What drink?"

"The one with the Rohypnol in it."

I rub my head. "Masen, English."

"The fucking roofie. You know, the date rape drug," he snaps. "It was in your drink. You drank it. That is how you consume it. You drank anything they gave you."

I stare at him for a stretched moment. "What? But...what? Why? Why would she do that?"

His palms land on his knees with a loud smack. He shakes his head. "I don't know, because she's a bad person? They thought it would be hilarious? Fuck if I knew, but I heard her and Ben laughing about it before you got there, and they had other things. Ben is always loaded."

I hold my head. My back hits the bed. Everything is spinning. "He knew. Ryan...everyone." I mumble. Masen sighs.

I laugh. This hysterical convulsive laugh bubbles up. Right from my belly, out my throat. He watches me with worried brows and it just makes me laugh harder. I go out of breath and double over, hanging off the bed. Like a switch, I'm screaming; face buried in my hands. My nails dig in. I hear him calling my name but it's far away.

"Please, calm down," he begs. He pulls me up, and I can't breathe. I tell him.

"I can't…" I take mouthfuls. He holds my head between his hands.

"Bella, please!" he says. I push him away so hard he slips off the bed and onto his knees. He reaches and pulls on my legs until he gets to my waist. My arms are flailing to fight him off but he's strong. I'm sitting at the edge where he pins my knees against his chest. "Listen to me. Let me explain."

"You knew. You fucking knew!" I sob.

"Bella, I didn't."

"You probably laughed your fucking head off." I grip his shirt and push him.

He holds my wrists. "I wasn't there."

"Of course you weren't there. You're never there! Because I'm not good enough, right?" He's about to speak but he stops. I take the chance. Everything I've ever wanted to say, I blurt it all out.

"I pour my heart out, morning comes and it's like nothing happened. You're too busy ignoring me and getting your dick wet, right? It's all you ever care about. Jimenez, the blondes, Chloe, Jess! My God, Masen, I'm not fucking blind! Look at me—I never used to be like this. I used to be good. I used to be sane. Now, I drink because of you."

He watches me. His jaw goes sharp, nostrils flare with anger.

"Please, open your mouth and tell me I'm being completely and utterly ridiculous. Tell me I'm wrong and you don't just about do anything you want with my feelings. String me along, push me right back where you want me." I grind my teeth "Do it. I dare you."

I pull away from his grasp. My legs fold in, and I get as far away from him as I can. I find the bathroom, turn on the light. My last words echo against the tiles before I close the door behind me. "You're not so different. You've all drugged me."

 **...**


	6. Chapter 6 - Edward

**A/N: Seriously, close the tab and do not read further if this fic offends you. I won't take it personal. Better yet, I won't even know you closed it. It'll be your little secret. ;-) It's OK. There are so many fics out there to enjoy. This one doesn't have to be one of them on your list to struggle through.**

 **For those who can take the wrenching love story about really lost and messed up people, then, read on. I dare ya. But buckle up. I don't write fluff but I do write HEAs. Thank you for reading and reviewing. xoxo.**

 *****Please refresh tab if you're reading. 'Maya' should be Bella, missed the change. Original characters are in wattpad. facepalm.**

* * *

 **Chapter 6: Edward**

 **2001**

It's winter. We're in Central right off the red line. Rose rushes me through the sidewalk. Her friends are waiting at Middle East. I'm a bit nervous. I'm not as adventurous or social as she is. She gets her courage from working at the state house, organizing and writing speeches for a Senator. Her work suits are as sharp as her mind. She knows so many people. A couple of them wait for her at the restaurant. There will be a show in the basement after dinner. You go through the back of the restaurant and hand over your ticket to get to a set of stairs where a stage is set up. She invited me to experience a bit of her world and introduce me to her friends. I'm intrigued. Junior year at Northeastern University isn't the most exciting now. Work and deadlines for midterms are drowning me, so this is the only fresh air I've gotten since the beginning of the semester. Living at home instead of dorms to save money doesn't allow for much fun or an extended social life. I rush home to finish things and, in the process, figure out what to do with my life. Liberal Arts isn't a definitive life path for me.

I settle in a seat at the table across from her when we get to the restaurant. She's chatting away already. Most of her friends are alums from Simmons College, so my guess is they're all women. I asked and she says, "Uhh, sure." I don't know what the hesitation was for, but I know I'll have to be on my toes. They're smart and witty. I'm betting any stupid thing coming out of my mouth will embarrass my sister.

I look down the line of women and one guy to my left. They're all so nice and wave over at me. Some ask easy questions. _Where do I go to school? Where do I work?_ None requiring thinking or sharing my opinions on economic and social matters. I probably should've searched _Ask Jeeves_ for the latest issues on those subjects.

The big, brawny, dude to my left is cool enough. He watches when I order and is curious how I'd like the dish. I guess I don't look like the type who gets out much and experiences foreign dishes, let alone order the best dish. Honestly, I think the chickpeas needed a bit more spices after picking at the half-eaten plate. It was surprisingly bland.

We're way into the meal when the door to the crowded restaurant opens. It charges in a brisk wind from the cold night. I look up, and _this_ guy isn't so big compared to the one on my left. Brawny probably isn't the word to best describe him. He's tall, lean and wears a tight haircut to his scalp. But his sharp jaw and gray eyes really sets him apart from a crowd if you were looking hard enough. He sits by Rose, and he's all ears for her. He pulls her in, one elbow around her neck. She smacks his knee that he folded over the other, too tall to fit under the table.

She points to me, and I instantly tense. He looks straight at me because it's what happens when you're being introduced. He smiles and maybe his eyes and jaw were just a bonus. There's something great about his mouth, probably wonderful, but I don't think on it further. The intimidation is greater. I smile and nod his way.

"Roro's baby sister, huh?" And I hate the condescending way he said that.

"Yup, in the flesh," I say right back. He chuckles slightly. Someone grabs his attention. The chatter continues around the table. I fold my hands over my middle, relaxed elbows over my armrests. _This is a comfortable chair._ I wonder idly. I decide it's just one of those moments you realize you won't fit in with anyone around you tonight. And that's ok. You accept the solitude, and you become comfortable being in the background, just a spectator. I pick on my food more and stay occupied with people watching. The couple on a date to the right. The waiters. The outfit on that person across the room. _I like her shoes_. My wandering eyes end at gray ones staring back. I realize then my invisible cloak isn't working. The condescending stranger named Edward is watching me.

This grin is permanently glued to his face, like he's figuring me out, taking in every mannerism and fidget under his stare. His fingers fiddle with a camera around his neck I didn't notice he had until now. An old one. _Minolta_ is etched in black at the top. I'd ask about it if it were someone else and in a less awkward situation.

I stray away from the camera, up to his eyes and look at him. He leans towards me. _Oh no, he's leaning in_. I hope to God he doesn't ask me thoughts on economic or social issues.

"Have you ever been here?" he asks instead.

I grin politely. "No."

"Do you know the band playing tonight?"

I just shake my head. "Are they any good?"

He shrugs. "I have their CD. Their first one was better." He smiles. I just nod.

Rose looks over and grins. She hooks a thumb his way. "He bothering you?"

He gapes, visibly insulted. "I don't harass," he defends.

Brawny dude to my left laughs loud. "This guy here is a dirty bastard. Don't trust him. Tell him no secrets," he warms me.

Edward lifts his hands, palms up. "What the fuck, I didn't do anything," he protests. I can't help but giggle.

"I'm watching you, bro." Brawny dude points a meaty finger. "Don't mess with Rose's baby sister. We'll have your ass."

"Please, you've known me way before you were a man. I'm harmless," Edward says. I do a double take to my left. Sure enough, Brawny's soft female features pull through, but he looks impressive. He laughs and elbows me.

"No one knows I changed because of this fucker right here." He points and the table roars in laughter. Edward can't help but laugh as well but doesn't hold back flipping him off.

The entire time my mouth is trying not to hang open, but I can't stop the cackling.

 _Click_.

I look back at gray eyes peeking from behind the lens. The shutter went off, and it was pointing at me. I instantly redden.

"She smiles," he mutters to Rose. She pushes a laugh through her nose and shakes her head. She shrugs at me.

That was strange. I'm uneasy the rest of dinner.

We gave our tickets upstairs, and now we're standing in the dark basement of the restaurant. There's a bar and graffiti on the black walls. The crowd is growing, and Masen squeezes between Rose and me. The show begins. It's loud, too loud for the confined space. The band is kind of everywhere, the melody is off, but the singer is ok. The hooks to the songs are catchy. I see why people came.

The body heat is ten fold now, but it's the heat of a stare that's bothering me. I look up and Masen, Rose's nickname for him, is watching me not the band. I look away and look back. He's grinning.

I mouth a _What?_ He shrugs and shakes his head. He looks at the band, so I focus on the chaos upfront. I tense when I feel him leaning in.

"Your reactions are more entertaining."

I shake my head, suppress a laugh. I don't look back at him for the rest of the songs. But he's watching, every once in awhile. After three songs he leaves and comes back with a drink for me. He just places it in my hand and sips on his.

 _Is this a date? Are we suddenly on a date?_ I take a sip as I sneak a peek at him and it's Coke and Rum. He's too much. He's confident and bold, taking charge of this back and forth between us—If it's even a back and forth, it's more like one sided.

The crowd goes wild. There's jumping and a bit of moshing all around me. I make myself as small as possible and pull my drink close to my chest. Moshers are everywhere, and I'm caught in the middle. I look around for Rose, but she's out of sight. My instinct is to look for Masen even though we're not connected. I look for anything familiar.

I push at a few people and finally find a spot I can stand immobile in. I'm not jostled much so I decide to wait it out. Elbows and knees jab here and there. I watch in a trance, bodies in motion. Hair flings this way and that. Silhouettes of digits extend, pointing to the ceiling like there's something there they'd like to reach for dear life. Maybe there is. I look up, and swirls of paint extend to the pipes. Some glow in the dark. Fluorescent colors brighten and dim with the stage lights.

Maybe I'm glad Rose dragged me here tonight. My bedroom ceiling is memorized, every crack and corner. I'd rather it be this ceiling than mine right now. The music swells and so do the colors. Elbows and knees still jabbing at me, but then I feel a break. A hand finds its way around my neck, a gentle pass that settles there like fire. The stage light is blocked from view. Masen's thumb skims my clavicle, and I'm suddenly not surprised it's him in front of me. I guess, deeply, I knew he'd find me. His lips descend without a beat of hesitation. I feel them on mine, and I close my eyes. Just so instant, the accepting, letting myself mold into it so quickly. He's...a puzzle. Subconsciously I knew, back there, when he smiled at me, that I could want him. I thought, with fear, that I could fall right into whatever he is and get lost. He's gorgeous. But I have no courage, so whatever that was I felt before never dominates or lures me to action. But he did.

He turns his head and let's go just enough to come back and tug on my bottom lip, molding our lips and tongues with a slow, delicious swipe. The song ends. Maybe people have already stopped jumping around, but I couldn't tell. I blink when he lets go and pecks at my nose.

"I just wanted to say goodbye," he says standing back. My hair is weaved around his fingers. He pulls away. "It was nice meeting you, Baby sister." He smirks, and I watch him go.

I'm crushed with this. What was that? He leaves, and the crowd feels relentless without him here.

I try not to seem different when Rose finds me. She doesn't seem to notice anything off about me. I'm grateful. The night ends soon after, and we go home without another hiccup. I'm floating, though, all the way to bed.

Time seems to pass, and I can't forget. Rose never talks about him so how do I begin to ask?

It's a cool spring night. Mom is cleaning out all of her makeup. She has tons and not any good ones. We filter through lipsticks and glosses. I find a red one and giggle. What would a conservative mom like mine be doing with such a color? I apply it, and it's not bad at all. It especially accentuates my pj's.

Rose is around packing up more of her shit she's left around after college. She's loud, demanding and obnoxious. The doorbell rings, and she's yelling for someone to open. The desk she's donating is on the porch.

I begrudgingly go and open the door after Mom insists so Rose would just shut up. That feeling of needing to fall or wish you were dead barges in. Because the last time I saw him, he was marking me permanent for life.

Masen grins instantly. He does a full body scan and tries to hide a full smile. "Baby sister." He nods in greeting. His hair grown to full locks. He looks different.

I can't seem to move a limb. Rose walks to the door and squeezes around me. Our eye contact is broken. Suddenly, I'm angry. It's spring. It's been months. Why would he do such a thing to a hopeless girl and leave her to simmer with it?

He stands there, and it doesn't affect him. He witnesses as my sister beckons me forward to say hi, I guess, but I remember him well, and I'm not moving. I walk into the house, leave him outside and hide closely by the door out of view, but I listen.

He's chatting away, telling her things about work and how they need new hires. I think on it. I realize, _hey, I need a job—school is almost over_. An idea pops up.

I walk out of my hiding place, and Rose looks over. She lifts her hand towards me. "There's your red-lip beautiful answer. Hire her."

He agrees. He's eager. He quickly flips his phone to record my number. Rose recites it because I can't speak.

If I could give my younger self advice to stay away, to not ask Rose five hundred questions about him after, to not find a sudden interest in becoming a Union organizer, I would. I would try to listen, maybe reason, but definitely tell her to stop and think how a future would play out without him in it. I would be happier.

Now I look at that stupid framed picture on my vanity he took four years ago. We were at a party, and it was dusk. He turned the camera towards us. I wasn't expecting him to wrap his arm around my neck, lean in and click. I looked so put off. I never tried to look interested or obsessively in love. Indifference was my mask. I used it well. It just made him love to tease all the more.

The time he stopped calling me _Baby sister_ , I knew he felt something more. I could see it in his eyes. He would hover around more. He'd watch more closely. It didn't sit well with him. He used other women to tell me and himself without words, that he wouldn't get close. I just took casual friendship as a safe step to not push him away. Now we have this odd relationship. We fight, we bicker like adolescents. We know one another very well, yet we've never mentioned the most obvious subject that is stepping our toes with its elephant feet and stampeding our hearts. I've never talked about it—until tonight.

Memories continue to torment as I fall asleep in the bathtub after crying for an hour. Tears down the drain of a lukewarm shower. My plush robe is my blanket, towels under my blotchy cheeks cradle a ten-ton heavy head. There's no way I'm going out there where he is. I haven't heard the front door open or close. No footfalls in my room.

I'm not going to work today. Probably never. I plan out my escape to Seattle over and over in my head, but every time it ends with a dead end. I'm broke. I live paycheck to paycheck.

I can't help but wonder and daydream: How would he feel if I left? What if he went to find me? What if he missed me so much he couldn't live without me? He'd come running. Maybe he would find me so happy. Or better yet, he'd find me in love and walking hand in hand with a man. It would kill him knowing I moved on.

Who am I kidding? He'd do nothing. I would do him the greatest favor in leaving.

Our words turn in my head, round and round. Maybe I was unfair, cut him out too fast. He had a bar fight for me for crying out loud. And I still don't know how much he saw that night. So many scenarios run through my mind. I can't ask him now after everything I've said.

If that's how he reacted at the bar, I could only imagine what happened that night. I dig my nails in palms, angry I can't remember.

And Jane. I try to connect these awful things and her together. I can't believe she'd do this. If I weren't so mortified to go to work, I'd go, just to rip her throat out.

At around dawn, I can't take it. My head aches too much. I'm too cold. I won't be bullied from my own apartment. I roll out of the tub and unlock the door.

He's nowhere in sight. I breathe a little. I walk through the room and peek around the wall of the hallway. Nothing. But the door is locked. I turn to find the key on the coffee table, but it's gone.

…

Thursday. I have to do this. No hiding anymore. There's only so much you can say to excuse yourself from work after two days.

I'm at my desk before anyone is in and I'm pretty much here for the rest of the day. Surprisingly, everyone keeps to themselves, and that includes Jane and Kate. It's weird. Usually, anyone who's out this long gets the Spanish Inquisition. They both kind of avoid me. Ryan is out door-knocking, to my relief. I don't see Masen anywhere. His desk is messy but empty beside me.

The vacant feeling I've felt at home grows ten-fold here. I don't like it, and I want to quit, just stand and tell Emmett I can't take it anymore.

I'm trying not to hyperventilate when in walks Masen. He's late. That's no surprise, but he walks in dragging luggage behind him. He rolls it to his desk. No one seems to notice. Where is he going? He unbuttons his coat but doesn't take it off. He looks over. He's the first to notice my presence, yet I'm the one who looks away.

"Ready, guys?" Emmett says loud. He walks into the conference room for our daily stand up. Everyone laggers in. I stay in my seat to purposely stand in the back until they're all in.

"As we all know, Masen and Jess will be in New York for the time being to set up camp for the new Local 812. Some training and leading will be much needed there. But we'll need you guys here to sift through the info for new cases. They'll need our help."

I feel my stomach drop. _New York? With Jess?_ I've never felt like this is the best or most disastrous timing in my life. Since the red-lip hire on the spot, I've never been away from him. And now he'll be away with someone else. Someone he's kissed before.

Tall people block my view to the front, but suddenly, shoulders part enough for me to see. Masen finds my gaze instantly. Again, I'm the one to look away.

"Bella." Emmett calls. I jump in place. "Glad you're feeling better," he says, and I redden. "You'll be continuing your work on both your cases while he's away. Please make sure you keep in contact and stay updated with any new changes." I nod to this agreement of torture.

Kate turns and gives me a small grin in support. I guess, she's still talking to me.

The meeting ends so I quickly go back to my desk heads down to work through the pile of paper. Everyone chats and jokes behind me. They walk past my desk, and I feel my hair being flicked from the back. I look up. It's Jane with a smirk on her face. "Out sick, huh? How was your brooding staycation?" she says. And suddenly all the anger boils inside of me.

I push my seat back and charge at her. She starts and quickly takes a few steps back. But I only get to swing once. Her chest caves with the blow, but not hard enough. My elbow is tugged. Just when my fist is about to connect again, I'm pulled back.

"Touch me again I'll rip your blonde hair right out of your fucking scalp," I spit. I kick a trash bin with the only free limb I have. It flies. I hits her tit hard. "Trashy bitch." Her face goes from surprised confusion to ashen. She looks behind me and back at me. Yeah, she knows.

Ben howls and guffaws loudly. I see him across the room. "And you! You both can go to hell," I yell.

"What the fuck? What did I do?" Ben lifts his hands palms up in all serious now.

I struggle out of the tight hold on me. I look back, and it's Masen. "Stop. It's not worth it," he says in my ear.

"Get the fuck off me," I seethe. I pull away roughly. I look back at Ben. "Oh, you want me to be real honest right now? I can say exactly what you two druggy pieces of shits did." Jane goes wide-eyed. Masen hugs me from behind.

"Bella," he pleads. He tugs at my chin to look at him. "Not the best time, alright?"

Emmett walks out of his office. "Yo, what's going on out here?"

Jane looks at Masen. "What did you tell her?" she says angrily. I charge at her again, but I'm on a tight hold and only end up kicking my legs out. She cowers away.

"You should spare a dick for once and go fuck yourself," I tell her. I walk out the opposite way and push a gawking Jess out of the way. She hits the wall.

"Excuse you," she says. I flip her off from over my shoulder and keep walking. Masen follows. And right at that very moment, like I couldn't have planned it any better if I tried, Ryan walks into the office. He stops by Emmett and looks around probably wondering what's going on.

I just walk right up to him, pull back my boot and strike between his legs. He bends enough for me to easily swing back a fist and punch him. Some standing around roar. I hear random profanities as I walk out. I leave Ryan doubled over holding his swollen dick and nose, now broken twice in one week.

Emmett's mouth hangs open, and I might be in deep shit for that, but I could care one spec.

Fuck it's cold out. I don't know where to go. What do I do now?

"Hey." Masen. I don't turn around. This is too much. I should leave. I should quit now and start running. "I didn't tell you that so you'd go ape shit," he says from behind me.

I turn to look at his unbelievably stupid talking face. "Oh right, because not doing anything about the people who did so much shit to me is the right way to go? You, the expert of self-control." I point at his chest. He catches my hand and tugs on it so I won't run.

Just his presence makes me want to hit him, too. But I can't because, why? He's not at fault for anything but breaking my heart, and that's another subject. Maybe I _should_ hit him.

Emmett walks out, I can hear him and know it's him by his heavy foot falls. "What the fuck just happened in there? Can someone explain it to me?"

"Highschool. That's what happened," I speak up when Masen tries to explain but fails. I turn and step around him. "Look, I...I get that was unprofessional, but when you put twenty-something-year-olds in one room and expect them to act like professional adults, you're delusional." I point towards the door. "That right there was just one of those fucked up moments that wasn't adult or professional. I apologize, and I understand if you need to let me go. Better yet, I'll quit and save you the awkward explanation."

Emmett shakes his head. "You're one of my best employees. Why would I let you go? What I asked was why did one of my best employees hit a guy square in the face and only swung at him once?"

I do a double take. "What?"

"I'm not blind. I get what's going on and, to be honest, I can't stand the guy. What I don't want you to do is get caught in the mess and let them affect you. You're better than this. You're a smart woman. I hired you because of your work ethics, great ideas, and honesty. So be honest with yourself and think hard on what is best; your sanity and self-respect or a right hook, which by the way was really impressive," he says looking at Masen. He cringes as he cups his crotch. I hear an affirmation behind me.

I try to speak. He interrupts. "I don't want to know the details unless you want to tell me. All I'm saying is do what's best for you. Now go home. Cool down. Rest that hand, and I'll see you on Monday so you can do what I hired you for."

I sigh and nod. Kate walks out with my purse and coat in her hands like she knew. She pushes them towards me as she tries to hide a smile. I thank her, making a point to talk to her later. I don't hesitate and walk away towards home.

"Bella," Masen calls. I don't turn around. Emmett is right. I should be done with this bullshit.

…


	7. Chapter 7 - Remote

**Chapter 7 - Remote**

Serrano arrives at the door before I do. My mom is going to freak. When she opens the door she does.

"She finally brought a man home!" She squeals.

"Ma! Jesus." I stomp up the steps towards the porch. Serrano is already laughing. I'm already grumpy and it's early on Sunday morning. Mom said to come for tea and scones. Who says that anyway? And since when does she have tea or anything carb in the house? Whatever. We're here since Serrano hasn't left yet.

Weird how we lied about visiting mom at the booth at the bar Monday night and it's really happening, we look like a couple. My stomach churns. My mind wanders back to last week and I can't think about it without wanting to hurl. And Monday, tomorrow will be Monday. Death by mortification.

We settle in, stare at mom in the kitchen tinkering, and sit on the patio with said scones and tea. Serrano lifts his pinky and sips. Of course, she wouldn't notice him mocking. She keeps talking about old times when she was younger and her ass was tighter.

"Please. We don't want to hear about your ass skin. Not appetizing."

"You're right, maybe we should talk about yours. It's looking pretty droopy lately. Emphasis on pretty, though." She grins around the rim of her porcelain cup.

"Oh, burn." Serrano.

I show him a fist. He cowers away, knowing exactly what happened on Thursday. I retold the whole thing over the phone, through snot and tears.

"Whatever."

"But it ain't that droopy," he says to mom. "Two guys were in a fist fight over her in a bar last week." Mom sprays a mouthful of tea all over the table.

"What the fuck?" Me.

"What?!" Mom.

We speak simultaneously but he ignores me. "Fucking awesome. They were like rolling around on the floor and crashing into things. If I wasn't so manly, I'd think it was hot," he explains with a nod.

"Tell me more!" Mom says. She leans in and pushes my face back with a hand so I won't interrupt. My mouth is ajar and I'm frozen in place.

"They were macho and buff, tall and handsome. Like both of them, not just one. Mrs. Swan, why do you think she's in ugly sweats and didn't brush her hair today? She's in total girl brooding for a guy mode." Mom looks at me with a gaping mouth in shock.

"And I asked you on the phone if anything was new. How dare you keep this from me!"

"Keep what from you?" Rose asks as she walks out to the patio.

 _Oh shit._ My stomach drops. _Why is she here?_ I didn't expect her. She can be pretty judgemental and opinionated about everything…especially if it has to do with her friends.

"Babe, sit. Listen to this!" Mom pats the chair beside her. Rose squeals when she notices Serrano. They hug and catch up, changing the subject. Meanwhile, my mom watches me for a moment. She reaches over and pulls locks of hair behind my ear. She gives me a small smile a mom only gives her kid when she's worried or concerned.

"So what's the gossip?" Rose turns to us.

"Bella has two boyfriends," mom says proudly.

"Ma!" I pull away from her.

Serrano chuckles. Rose leans in to get the scoop all wide eyed. "Is that why you're in sweats and look like a tumbleweed rolled in from town?"

I huff and stand to put my dishes in the sink. "Screw you. And these are _not_ sweats. They are leggings and they are awesome. They just happen to be comfortable." No one pays attention as I walk into the house.

I hear Serrano going into details about these two guys from work. The "oh my gods" sail from the open door from outside as they take it all in.

"Wait, what guys?" Rose interrupts.

I tense and wait for it. Serrano fumbles to remember the names. "Ryan was it? And Mase or Masen or something." I could kill him because the next moment I hear Rose stand from the table. The seat drags on the patio. She pushes through the screen door.

"Masen? What the fuck did he do?" She asks from behind me. I can hear she's already pissed.

I sigh. "Nothing. It's not like that."

"How many times have I told you…"

"I know!" I turn to her. "You don't need to lecture me again. I get it. He's no good and I should keep my distance." I turn to the dishes to avoid her scolding stare. "Trust me. _Nothing_ is happening." I scoff because that last part is painfully true.

She waits. It's awkward, silent, and tense. The patio outside is quiet now as they all listen. But she's not having it. She wants what I'm not saying. She feels the responsibility of pushing me into this job so I get her, but I'm sick of her older sister card. I'm an adult.

"Ryan was the one acting like a...dick. He was just helping me out. That's it," I say. That's not all of it but I'm not spilling. She'd probably get all of them fired if she knew the part of the story that involves drugs. Emmett and she go way back to college years. They still talk. Just that alone makes me stop what I'm doing to feel my heart drop. This can get really out of hand. _Fuck._

"So much so Masen had to fight him at a bar? How much of a dick was he being?" she asks.

I want to cry but god if I do that now, she'll know everything in a matter of seconds. This is how we are, family doesn't need but one gesture to know what the other is feeling. I quickly try to answer carefully.

"Just being a douchebag. He got too drunk and too handsy. Everybody was drunk. It was just that one time. Trust me, he won't do it again." I'm cleaning the countertops and finish with putting dishes away. She's quiet behind me. "Can you make yourself useful and get all the dirty dishes from outside?"

"Hm." She does that skeptic sound she loves to make and walks away. I breathe a little.

I hear mom tell her to leave me alone. They argue but not so quietly. After ten minutes I go out to get dishes since she's sitting and not helping. I snatch the plates and spoons onto a pile and Rose has a face aimed right at me.

"I remember Edward. He's a nice boy. If Bella wants to get to know him, there's nothing wrong with that," Mom says.

I get even angrier. Why are we discussing this? Why about Masen? What is it about that jerk everyone wants to talk about? I slam the pile on the table. "Ma, I already know him and like I said, even though it's nobody's business, there is nothing going on. It was stupid. It past. Let it go."

Mom lifts her hands in surrender. Serrano is stuffing scones down his throat, embarrassed he started this.

"And it better stay that way or I swear to god I will get his ass fired and not even ten feet near another Local again," Rose spits.

"Oh, because you're so high and mighty. You could fire anyone." I flip her off. "Sit on this and spin. Serrano, stop eating. We're leaving." He coughs out crumbs and stands.

Mom snorts. Rose gives her a dirty look.

"You can do the dishes, Ms. Knowitall." I walk out leaving Serrano behind to say his goodbyes.

He jogs to the car and hops in. "Fuck. I'm sorry."

I shake my head. "She loves to boss. That's her purpose in life."

"That's...bitchy."

"No, it's her, caring. Her heart is in it 100 percent. She was the strong one when dad died. Someone had to be."

He nods, looking out the windshield. The exit to the airport is a mile away. I'll be dropping him off and he'll be gone. I'll have no one left to confide in.

"But it's done," I continue speaking.

"What is?"

"She will find out everything and do something about it. She always does." I sigh. I'll just wait for the bomb.

...

" _Bella…please."_

The cursor blinks at me waiting for me to type a reply. I can hear his voice streaming in with every word as if he were in my living room. I'd know from reference. I feel that tingle in my ring fingers, straight up through my arms forming goosebumps. How is it that he's miles away in another state yet he affects me. Black pixeled letters on screen etch my chest, crawling through.

He pleads.

Three weeks have passed. I've actually managed to work remotely through all of it. I'm home or door knocking with Kate. I sent Emmett an email hoping he'd let me just stay away for a while and he agreed. I kind of love him now.

The first time Kate saw me since the dog fight (her words not mine) she just hugged me tightly. She didn't know the schemes either but raved about Jess and Jane's shocked expressions left at the scene.

Ryan went home pissed. Apparently, Emmett suspended him for two weeks after pulling him into his office. We don't know what words were exchanged. I don't care anymore. All I care about is finding a way to avoid Masen as much as I can online.

I send him reports neatly organized, nothing out of place, so he wouldn't have a reason further than replying _thanks_ or _not shitty, good job_. Of course, as my superior, he can critique everything I do. I never leave anything untidy to give him a motive. It's been working out.

Kate sits on the couch beside me. Papers are splayed everywhere and between us. She rolls her neck around after lifting her eyes off the screen she's been staring at for hours. There's a deadline. Funny the word deadline has _dead_ in it because it's how I feel now.

Reports are due to Masen and Jess—the couple, the dynamic duo, M.J. for short (gag)—so they can form some meetings in Brooklyn. Workers are gathered at a location to all agree on things that need to change at the company. Masen will be upfront leading hundreds of employees to discuss plans.

II have to provide the best practice plans he'll be talking through. This meaning lots of back and forth on skype...live chatting, in the moment response and replies. Hence me doing the opposite and not writing back.

If Kate knew we were even going down this hole of a conversation she'd seriously be judgemental, or I'd take any of her reactions as such. She would just be reminding me of my promise to never refer to him at all if it's not about work.

So far it's been working out. I log in, he curtly says good morning without me ever saying a word. Casual, work appropriate. My reply is always _yup_ or I get right to sending him files.

Today he asked me a question. Three weeks of work-talk and out of the blue everything stopped when he asked.

" _How are you?"_

I froze over the keys. A minute or two passed. I switched to the Internet browser to search a few addresses.

Nothing. Ten minutes have passed now and I'm finishing up a file he'll need to print out for handing out. I save it. I find it in its folder. I send that. He accepts the file.

" _I miss you."_ New message.

My heart pounds. I instantly look up to see if Kate is watching over my shoulder. She seems to be snoozing, head back on the couch, mouth ajar. I look back at the screen. I sigh.

I type in two letters. "No," is my reply.

" _Bella...please."_

It's so like him to try to rush back with sweet things to say when he feels ignored. When I get too close, he finds space. Well, watch me find space. I log off.

My laptop slams shut waking Kate up. She looks at me, then the laptop. "What?" I shake my head.

"Oh nothing," I say with a shrug. I try to seem as nonchalant as one can with a rushing heart. "Tired." She watches me close. Something on her screen blips. She looks at that, then glances at me. She types in a few letters.

"Nothing, huh?" She asks. I see the skype window open. That small icon is the same on her screen that was on mine. Him. I grow red, maybe with anger. I scoff and get up to use the bathroom or maybe find a pillow to scream into. I stare at myself in the vanity over the sink and hold my face together so I won't collapse or cry or...care. I've been alright. I've been more than alright. I've been so great. Doing work. Minding my own business. Trying not to break down every time I think about roofies in glass cups, flashbacks of a confusing night, or bitches with deviant schemes. I've been fine.

I smooth my hair down. My t-shirt and Celtics basketball shorts I took from dad are dingy. OK, maybe not so completely fine. This has been me for nearly a month. A crazy person with hair in places that shouldn't be seen by humans.

Kate finds me. She leans on the door jamb and pushes the door open wider where she can watch me freaking out silently.

"So, you're ignoring him." Not a question. I occupy myself with washing my hands.

"That was the plan, right?" I ask. I finish washing my hands and wipe them on a hand towel.

"You missed a stop," she says, but she's pointing at my entire body. "There's a bigger faucet over there." The shower.

"Fuck off, Kate." I switch off the light.

"Wow. She actually said fuck off to a person. Holy shit. Who can I share this with?"

 _Please don't say him. Just, please._ "What can I say, you rub off on me," I say instead. She laughs behind me. I make my way to the kitchen, she follows and I kind of want to tell her to leave. It's beyond work hours anyway.

"Just saying, you know? Maybe it's been long enough. Man bashing can get old. Even sad bitches like us need to move on and, I don't know...let loose."

"To go out and find mediocre dick or good-for-nothing dick, or dick that only gets you in trouble?"

"Well..." she shrugs, "some form of it anyway. I say fuck all those men in our lives and let's find new ones. More in the sea and all that."

I stare at her. She looks up from her nails when she feels the glare. She sighs. "Fine. But, I'm out. Gonna go meet John. Remember I have a meeting with him tomorrow. I won't be able to come in until later but, you have my cell." She walks out of the kitchen. I hear her grab her stuff as I grab milk out the fridge and pour it on Lucky Charms. No luck here. I take a huge spoonful, just in time to see her walk by the kitchen to the front door.

She catches me with the bits of 'mallows stuck to my chin. I brush the rest off my chest into the bowl.

"Jesus." She makes a face. "Just promise me you'll at least cleanup and shave while I'm not here. Don't think I didn't notice you stabbing me with them leg hairs. Just...please don't make me a liar when I told him you've been doing great."

I stop chewing. "He asked about me?"

She doesn't answer but walks out. I follow behind bowl in hand. "Kate!" I shout around the puffs.

The staircase is cold outside my door. I look over the railing and see her hopping down the steps below. "What did he say?" She doesn't answer. I spit out the mushy chew into the bowl and charge down the stairs.

"I thought you didn't care," she says from afar.

"Pfft, please. I don't."

"Then why the hell are you walking barefoot on these disgusting floors chasing after me?"

I grunt. "I'm not, I'm just...walking my friend to the door. Friends do polite things for each other." I lie right out of my ass. I reach the last landing and she's at the splayed door, letting all the cold in.

"Bella, just go, take a relaxing bath and chill."

"Kate." I give her the eye. She sighs.

"We...talked, OK? Just after Emmett sent you home. We were outside watching you go. I had to hold him back from going after you. I told him to chill, that you needed time. He was...quiet for a long while after Emmett went back inside. I felt like he needed to get it off his chest, so I waited." She leans on the door jamb with a sigh.

"He told me about the drink. Bella, I didn't know. If I did, I'd of jacked up Jane and punched Ben out myself. But apparently, I didn't need to, Masen did—the Ben part," she says rolling her eyes. "He only wished he could strangle Jane.

"They were laughing about it at Pete's pub the week before your dog fight. You and I weren't there that night. He heard them saying it was a joke and he realized, he put two and two together." She shakes her head. "He raged. But Ben was too high to even feel that fist across his face."

"He fought Ben?" I ask. She shrugs.

"Not exactly, more like Ben was out before he even had a chance to say another word. He probably doesn't remember. Jane was...quiet the day after at work and avoiding everyone. I didn't ask."

"So, Masen didn't know I was drugged that night?"

She shakes her head. "Neither did I. Too much alcohol all around. Even I passed out at home. John had to carry me."

I stare out to the street lost in thought. All the thoughts. My heart hurts.

"I'm so sorry," she whispers. I shake my stupor, blinking my dry eyes away.

"All I'm gonna say is he had a lot of bar fights for you. Give the man a chance to explain. You both need to talk. But most importantly, you have put your big girl panties on and tell Emmett everything so he can fire all their asses. I'll be right there with you. It's up to you." With that, she takes a spoonful of Lucky Charms before I warn her. She walks out.

I gag a bit on her behalf. I didn't exactly brush my teeth this morning.

The bubbles cover me up to my chin. The Yankee candle flickers and it's poignant. I'm huffing and puffing after shaving. _Chilling_ is work in disguise and making me think more. This is not relaxing.

Screw this. I pull myself out of the tub. I wipe the vanity with a wet palm and just stare. Maybe something will make sense if I do it long enough. When that won't do anything, I rummage through the cabinet to trim and pluck all the strays around my eyebrows. Maybe Kate was right, I feel a little human. My fingers stumble over tubes of lipsticks and I find that special one I fell in love with. I turn the tube out and glide it over my lips. I haven't found this shade of red anywhere, and not since the day I was hired.

Years later, I realize, some things haven't changed. This red-lipped beauty is still aching over that same someone.

…

* * *

 **A/N:** Sorry for this chapter delay, next chap will be up this week. Thanks for the recs over at the Lemonade Stand by Nic and A Different Forest by Tarbecca. Seriously, fucking honored. I love your reviews. Thanks so much.


	8. Chapter 8 - Silhouettes

**A/N: Merry Christmas! Hope you all got what you wanted. Here's my gift to you. Enjoy. Thank you all.**

 **Chapter 8 - Silhouettes**

Jess is online. My stomach churns because I can't stand her and it means Masen is probably around. We're working together on a presentation for her. I don't have to do much but she's kind of a moron. I guide her through the outline I set up and I'm basically telling her what to do. I know how shitty presenting is and Masen can be brutal when he critiques. Women helping each other out, I guess. Whatever. If Kate was here, she'd laugh her ass off.

She can't seem to get the hang of screen sharing. I keep telling her to click the fucking button. " _No, that one. No! That's the video one. The one beside it."_ I type furiously.

Kate isn't here today. I woke up, took a shower and actually dressed in normal clothes. I attempted to blow dry my hair hoping it'll look somewhat presentable. I don't want Kate's meeting to end early and show up to see me look a mess. I don't want to hear her mouth going.

I had a balanced breakfast of eggs and toast hoping it'll help with the facade. Maybe if I pretend I'm ok, I'll be ok.

I let out a frustrated grunt. Jess still doesn't know how to work this thing.

 _"Wait, let me get Masen,"_ she types. And that was my fear. I roar, head tilted back and do the hand claws where you'd just like to rip a throat. My fingers bang on the keyboard.

 _Blip._

"Oh my god," I say in horror. I hit enter by mistake and I see Jess's face full-screen. She can see mine. "Fuck. I told you, not that button!"

"There you are!" She exclaims like she's figured it out. "Oh, nice lip. Digging the red." I roll my eyes and curl said lips into a snarl.

"Jess, no time."

"OK, wait!" She stares at the screen more. I can see all her forehead wrinkles as she leans in and her head gets twice as large. Five minutes pass. I take a sip of my morning smoothie or I'll curse at her.

I take the moment to snoop on her surroundings. An unmade bed sits behind her with a mound of clothes and cosmetics. _Dirty ho._ A door is open to the far right. She's in a bedroom. Maybe a hotel or a brothel, who the fuck knows. She sits on a chair at a desk with papers splayed everywhere. My living room looks the same.

"I'm sorry. Just one sec. Please don't log off," she pleads and runs out of the room. Her stupid cute outfit pops into view; slim, high-waisted jeans, a tank loosely fitted over a pink bra. Her blonde locks flow in waves behind her.

I sigh. Of course, he would find that attractive. _I_ find that attractive. She's gorgeous. They probably just finished having sex on that bed I see through the sharp, clear screen.

 _Stop it._

I see her outside the door walking around barefoot, nonchalantly talking on the phone...while I wait. I see someone standing by her, she shoos them into the room and points at her laptop. Masen walks in. I could kill her.

He kind of does a double take when he sees me. His strides slow and so does the faint grin appearing on his lips. He folds himself into the desk chair to face me. Ché Guevara's silhouette takes up most of the screen for a second before he lifts the lid to frame his face. The t-shirt snugly fits around his shoulders and chest. What gets me isn't that or how long I've gone without seeing him, but seeing his bare feet while he walked towards me just about killed me. He's comfortable. He's in his element. They're living in an apartment together.

We stare at one another. Not a word is uttered. I kind of freeze. Maybe if I don't move long enough he'll think the connection has failed and I can close the lid of my laptop.

He leans on an elbow to rest his chin on a few knuckles.

"My red-lipped beauty," he says in wonder. That grin still playing over his lips. He remembered. I don't respond because my insides melt. I want to cry.

I forgot about the stupid lipstick. It had to be today I decided to wear it again.

He chuckles a bit. "I really wanted to kiss you again that day you answered the door." He looks straight at the camera. I can see the dark specks in his gray eyes. "Remember that?"

I curl my lips into themselves and lick off the pigment. I still don't answer. I can't. I look out the windows facing my couch and this is heart wrenching...and bullshit.

He shifts where he sits and tucks his hands under the desk. "Don't do that." He tells me to stop.

I interrupt him. "So, why didn't you?"

He watches my lips, the red has lightened and faded. "What? Kiss the shit out of you?" He thinks. He shrugs slightly and smirks. "Rose, probably. I was scared of her...of what she'd think. Still am."

Her reaction on Sunday comes to mind. I ask him, "Why?" He chuckles once, probably wondering where this is going.

"Uhh...I don't know. I guess...," he says as he thinks it through. He shifts in his chair and even through the feed I see his Adam's apple bob as he swallows. I blink slowly to wipe away the memory of the feeling, tucked into that neck when I had the chance. He chuckles softly again. "She told me she'd rip my balls off if I got close."

"To me?"

He looks straight at the small lens. "To you." I breathe in deeply. I nod. Just as I suspected. Rose's influence was all over this. All this time and I didn't know.

Jess walks into the room bringing us back to the matter at hand. She's still on the phone as she grabs cigarettes from the bureau. She leaves without a glance.

"So did you find that button on Jess...uh, for Jess? To, you know, share the screen?" I clear my throat.

His shoulders visibly drop. He sighs and looks back at the door. "Not yet." He scratches a bicep, runs his fingers through his hair.

I nod. He looks a bit put off by what I said. Good.

"I'm sure you will. Let her know I have to work on a few things, though. I have to go."

He doesn't make a move. He just watches. After a very long pause he asks, "So, you're home?"

"Yup."

"Good. Glad Emmett heard me out. I told him you needed time." He looks down at the desk and dabs on a few papers in front of him with fingertips.

What? So, it was him who allowed me to work remotely? Blood boils in me. I feel the heat rising up my neck. "Needed time for what exactly? Why would you think I needed time?"

He looks up confused. He's a bit careful with his next response.

"Bella..." His eyes close a moment.

"No, tell me. Why should I need time if I don't know what I'm grieving for?"

He shakes his head slightly. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"You haven't told me anything. I don't know what even happened!" I yell. "That's what I mean."

"You never gave me a chance to explain anything, Bella. You locked yourself in the bathroom, remember?"

"Tell me." I sit back and cross my arms. I'm eerily calm. "Go ahead." He stares. Anger is visible through pixels. When he doesn't speak I push. "So...you used my key. You barged in. Came into my room and saw us in bed, right? Is that how it went?"

He bangs his fists on the desk. "No..." He begins to speak. His mouth is snarled slightly to keep quiet. But he stops. He straightens in his chair and looks at something far away in thought.

I wait. I watch all of these expressions morph over his face. Whatever decision he's made he looks determined.

"You know what?" he says, almost to himself. He stands and rattles the chair to the floor with the force. He walks away from the screen and out the room. I gape.

Jess is shoved out of the way at the threshold where they bump into one another. She's confused. I watch her turn back and look out from her bedroom door.

 _"Masen,"_ she calls after him. I see a commotion and lift the laptop closer to my face to see. _What the hell is he doing?_

Jess walks out for a moment. I see him walk past the door in a rush, she follows after. I hear muffling and then yelling. A door slams far away. She appears in her room. She walks to the laptop and sits. She says nothing.

"Umm." I lift my hands and let them fall over my thighs. "Can I know where he went?" I ask.

She finishes pushing papers together in a pile and shrugs, but she looks pissed. "Don't know. He said he won't be back until Sunday."

It's Friday. That's almost two days. "Did he say where he went?" She doesn't respond. Oh my god, like pulling teeth here. "Jess!" I snap.

She sighs. "I don't know, I'm not his secretary, thank god."

"So, did he fix the computer?" She asks, tinkering with the trackpad. It wasn't even broken. God, I want to strangle her. She stares at the screen but not at me. "I still can't see your desktop." Oblivious. Completely.

"OK, gotta go. Good luck with your...thing. I can't..."

"Uh, hello," is the last thing I hear her say. I log off. I should've just logged off the moment I saw him. _What is wrong with me?_ I grab handfuls of hair on my head and try to breathe but panic settles in.

The buzzer for the door goes off. Jittery, I go and buzz Kate in. I open the door and hear her heavy boots up the steps. When she's at the top she stares at me. Immediately she knows somethings up. "Make me a sandwich while you tell me everything," she says and pushes through the door.

A half-hour later she takes the last bite and looks up. "So, where the hell did he go?"

I pull my hair in frustration. "I don't know!"

"Hm. This is exciting." She puts the plate in the sink. "Do you realize your life is full of surprises? It's a fucking adventure. And I don't get why since you're kind of plain." She shrugs.

"Hah!" I'm not laughing. I fall into a chair.

"I, on the other hand, have to find my own adventure. In which case, John and I hooked up," she says with a bounce and fist pump.

Aw, damn. I've been selfish. She's really had a crush on this guy for the longest. I should be happy for her. I pull out the ice cream from the fridge and a spoon from the cabinet. "Tell me all the things." She does, and it's so great to not think of anything for a while. All the anger simmers down.

We pull stacks of folders onto our laps to work on contracts Emmett needs by the end of the day. I let her fill the uneasiness I feel deep inside with gossip and kiss and tells. But it's working in my head constantly. That feeling. The dread. The problems. It doesn't give me a break. What do I do about this? I want none of this dilemma anymore. I want to just be happy.

The day crawls. I make dinner while Kate sits with her laptop and tries to get rid of Jess who badgers through Skype. She's been working on her presentation and freaking out. Kate is her next victim.

"I swear, why did they hire her?" she asks.

"Beats the fuck out of me." I pause to gain the courage to say what's itching inside. I scoop her a heaping spoon of zucchini spaghetti with homemade cashew, cilantro and garlic sauce to go with the pieces of bacon. Because what raw eating vegan has this with meat? Me, that's who. I hand her a plate.

"I think they're living together." I blurt it out. Kate looks up and looks away quickly. I gasp. "You knew?"

"No, I mean. I don't know. I kind of heard something like that at work. Masen has a friend who owns a building. It's temporary. It was less money for Emmett. Just worked out."

"Oh." Great.

"It's no big deal, so stop it."

"I know! I just...noticed it that's all. I'm sayin'...yeesh." I'm devastated.

"Well, I heard the owner of the building was a close family friend. He helped Masen pay for art school."

"Really?" How come he never told me that?

"The guy saw he was good with a camera so he sponsored him. Masen does some kind of freelance for him from time to time. I don't know why he became a union organizer and not a full-time photographer."

Well, I know that part. He told me. "His mom was sick. He had to make money, not follow a stupid dream. His words, not mine." I explain.

Kate nods. "Well, that's heart-wrenchingly sweet. So, she's fine?"

"She died."

Kate sits back on the couch, shoulders down and looks at me. "Wow."

One of the many things we both related with—my dad, his mom. He would sit where she's sitting now and tell me how his deadbeat dad pretty much drove her to her death faster with his shitty life decisions. When Masen was big enough, that's when it began. His mother watched as they'd fight...physically. I guess that's why the bar fights were an ease for him. He's had a few practice shots before, too many. He's alone now. An only child and no uncle or aunts to search for.

I remember it so clearly. He'd tell the story as I curled a lock of his hair around my finger. I don't think he would ever spill his heart out if he wasn't so intoxicated. But at the end of the night, he came to my door, crashed on my couch instead of someone else's. That meant something. Who am I kidding? That meant more to me than anything. Stupid infatuation.

 _"Baby sister...you're gonna drive men wild."_ He'd slur with fingertips running down my neck. " _You're beautiful."_

I should've stopped him when his fingers would wander too far, down my chest, popping a few buttons to skim my bra under a heaving chest. I just about fainted when a thumb found the hardened peak through lace and fabric. He made me want him madly.

But every time he'd pull away. The wandering was over in seconds, leaving me messy with nerves and feelings.

I blink. Kate is quiet like she's mourning my unspoken thoughts with me. My ears are slightly muted underwater drifting. I barely register as she picks up her things and murmurs a few goodbyes and thank-yous for lunch and dinner. I nod. It's all I can manage as I walk her to the door, watch her go before closing the door to lean a cheek on the frame for a good second.

I'm on a cloud as I push myself off and walk to my dark room. The city lights lighten the duvet and the walls with glowing stripes from the shades. Maybe if I crawl into bed now I'll dream of him. Sweater off and over my head, I look down at my bra and it's the same one he touched. I attempt to let out an incredulous chuckle but a sob comes out instead.

The front door is pushed open. I start.

I look out my bedroom towards the slight view of the front door. Where I stand, I see there's no one there. My heart goes from broken to pounding fear in a second, because I locked it.

"Kate?" I call. I don't know why I do. She doesn't have a key. I grab my sweater and drape it over my chest and think and think. I look around. The window. The fire escape would do. Heart racing, I finally move. Then I stop. A thought. I have one key, _he_ took the other from my coffee table.

Right then, he walks into the living room. The tail of his coat trails behind with his haste. He turns into the kitchen, nothing there. He pushes the door to the outside bathroom and finds it empty inside.

I watch a determined, flushed-faced Masen turning circles outside my bedroom. He's yet to find me, glued feet to the floor, wide eyes and pounding heart ready to stop.

The moment he steps out from the empty bathroom his eyes find mine. He pauses at the narrow hallway and glares. Not a muscle moves in me. He's cast in shadow but he's here bone, flesh, and blood...and angry. His chest lifts and falls, unsettled between the lapels of his coat like he's been running for miles to get here.

Metal clinks loudly on the floor. The key falls out of his palm. He lifts a hand to pull off the bag from his back, it drops to the floor beside him. And when he takes a step forward I take a step back. Then I can't step back further. The lamp on my nightstand swivels behind me and falls. His advance is more startling than the crash. He grabs me. My arms are pinned to my sides with his grip. I look up at the fury in his eyes and cripple under their weight.

"You want to know what he didn't have a chance in hell to do?" He speaks. I'm mute. So much to say hours ago I just gape now.

"I walk in through that door," he shouts and points. "To an empty living room, an empty kitchen, just like now. Not a sign of you anywhere. My dread was knowing I'd find you in here, straight from the bar, underneath him. Rose's sister. The girl I was supposed to keep safe. A fucking promise!" He bangs a fist against his chest.

"I almost didn't walk in here. I fucking thought about it real hard. It wasn't my right. You weren't mine." He says holding me tighter. He's trembling. I feel my limbs tremble beneath him.

"But that moment, Bella...the moment I heard you, I knew. You called out to me like you knew I'd be here. That cry broke me. It marked me for life!"

Tears burn down my cheeks. I look away but he doesn't let me. He holds up my trembling chin to look up at him. He wipes a tear with a thumb.

"And she cries," he says to no one, a chuckle and a sigh pushes out of him. "I'm trying to tell her that he had no way in hell, not a chance to even put a single finger on her. Because I walked in...and when I did, I almost broke his fucking spine before he undid that last button on his fly."

I let out a sob. My mind opens up and I do remember the bang. The wooden floors by the bed shook under two bodies colliding. The lamp swiveled on the nightstand. The closet door swung open, banged on the wall with a kick. Failing arms and fists. No words. None of them even uttered profanities. I only remember the loud bang and struggling to keep my eyes open.

"Do you want to know what happened next?" He offers with a nod like he can read the flashing memory through my mind. I let my head fall. He crouches to find my eyes. "I won't leave out a detail. I promise," he whispers.

My breath staggers as I try to compose myself. He lets go to pull off his coat. It drops to the floor by the bed. The pillows tumble as he pulls on the plush comforter, turning it down. He toes off his sneakers one at a time, pushes them aside. He reaches back to pull on his collar. His shirt is off. I watch as the thin metal chain settles on his chest. Then he reaches for my chest. I let him, no hesitation or doubt. I drop my arms and he pulls on the sweater, then my jeans where he frames my hips with his hands to pull them off.

I get the hint. This is overwhelming. If the lights weren't off I'm sure he'd see the shades of red springing up my neck to the tips of my ears.

He lifts the bed sheet, stands back and waits. I crawl in. Tears drip onto the pillow beneath my head as I watch him climb in beside me. I'm pulled flush to him without question. This bra grows warm with closure against his chest, soft to firm pecs. He sighs trying to calm. I sigh because I'm home.

I breathe. I breathe it all in. Every silent hiccup you get from crying settles with the scent I find on him. That neck I love so much is pressed to my lips. I close my eyes.

We lay here exhausted. Hours. The world and worry off his shoulders and mine. I was fine. Nothing happened that night. Nothing but gentleness and care I can't remember. This. I run a hand over his chest in wonder. How could I have forgotten a moment like this?

I run a nail down his arm and let the last few stray of tears dry out. I can't. My heart is a bundle of mess and he just lays here breathing warmth into my hair. I pull away. I reach for those lips and press mine to them eagerly.

"Thank you," I tell him between slow kisses from his mouth his chin. I look into his darkened eyes. "I'm sorry for putting you through that."

He sighs softly, looks at my ceiling. "I didn't like it...I don't. Seeing him, you. I could've killed him, Bella. I want to, still."

I infinitesimally shake my head before I press my lips to his. I lick a trail between his parted ones. He watches me, eyes traveling down to my mouth, he shuts them briefly.

His jaw flexes where I drift. His throat works beneath it and I follow with my lips, nestling there. I graze teeth over skin I coveted through a pixelated screen hours ago. I look at him. I wait. The pause so long I hope to god he doesn't pull away.

The moment he relents I see it in his eyes. He pulls me in and kisses me like I've dreamed him doing on this very bed. I'm on my back and he's all over. The statue comes to life under my hands. We kiss for hours it seems. He hugs me close, gripping handfuls of curves and heated skin. He roams.

Slowly, his thumbs find the straps of my lucky bra and his mouth is there. Fingers pulling on cups and a warm mouth around me. His thumb circling around a hardened nipple, the other between his teeth. He pulls. I curl my spine so hard. I grab his hair and don't let go. My arms are trapped under the hooked bra. He leaves it behind to crawl between my legs.

"Bella..." His mouth at my torso. He's on his knees pulling things off, bobbing with the final pull of his underwear. I watch the silhouettes of his thighs and torso hovering over me. The sheets tumble off of us along with clothes. He crawls back up, but on his way he pulls me apart to lick. One slow startling stroke.

I lose it. Chest heaving, ready to stop breathing. My thighs frame his shoulders, settling around his waist as he travels up.

"I saw you like this," he says breathlessly. "Just like this and fuck." He bucks. I feel him and swallow a cry. "You were beautiful then, now," he murmurs, his mouth full, slipping off a hard nipple to get to my neck. His lips roam everywhere, hands at my sides, hips, and thighs. "Would you let me, Bella? Would you?" He runs himself between me over and over as if asking to let him. I'd just about faint if he doesn't.

Mumbled words are all I can muster as I widen. I practically gauge out skin from his back when he sinks in.

The sounds he makes. The graze of his hips, his hands by my head as he moves. This is a dream, but I run my fingers over his chest, move right with him, and I know it's real. He grabs my hand to trail it down. He watches my eyes flutter as I feel everything. That chain around his neck twirling above, skimming my sensitive skin like he does with his fingers. "Show me. I want to see you," he says.

No shame in him knowing what I've tried with images of him. I weave my fingers around his and show him, then I can't keep my eyes open. He shifts to deepen and I can't keep quiet. Leaning on a hand, the other between us, he watches everything as he just about pulls me apart. Every thrust is satiating. An old, lonely, hopeful void being filled. I hold on to him or anything, trembling hands against my headboard. Desperate. Panting, along with him. Our rhythm fervent. His eyes rapt, knowing—this is what we've wanted for so long. He takes his time until I am breathless.

The last few erratic thrusts are drawn out as he grinds excruciatingly slow. Handfuls of my hair. Hard kisses. He watches me, knitted brows, knowing there's no turning back from this. He has given in, himself, fully. His feelings exposed.

I lie on my side staring at the veins plump on his hand, running up his arm. It's late. I can't sleep. How could I? He's pressed behind me and this was a monumental moment in my life.

I can't believe he came all this way just to yell it in my face. I guess we both let our anger get carried away, for years now, an old quarrel between lovers. Maybe he's a little worse. I sigh. Deep inside I know I'm worse.

But God, his hands, this one dangling around my waist as he sleeps. I get to caress and stare at it. This contentment eases in.

I shift. I can't keep still. I settle my head back on his arm, turn to kiss it. God, I love him. Every inch of skin at my back.

Said hand around me twitches. A few fingers tap against my belly. _Stop moving,_ he seems to say. I try to hold back a chuckle. I don't move, but I settle for outlined hearts with a fingertip in his palm. On my fifth one, I wince. His teeth dig into my shoulder and he pins my hand to the side. "Go to sleep," he says groggily. I bite on my lip to not laugh.

I sigh, probably too loudly. I stretch out my legs and things ache. I contemplate on said _things_ as my toes find his under sheets.

What now? Is this it? Morning comes and he'll go back to New York to his apartment, to Jess, and that's that? I don't know. How do I ask about his living arrangement or everything he hasn't told me? So many questions. I want to know. I daydream imagining us at work. Would things be different? Would he hide it?

I think, I think. I curl a few toes over his nail beds, and then I think of those. Even his feet are gorgeous. A chuckle escapes because of course, he's fucking perfect. Every inch. So many inches. I bite my lip remembering, just hours ago. The second time we rumpled this bed, when I told him, "Again." Even with all the questions, I can't help but feel complete bliss as I wiggle toes on his.

I start. He whispers a snarl into my ear, "You are insufferable." All the air in my lungs seems to rush out when I feel that dangling hand run past my navel. No lessons needed this time. I grip his arm and I'm lost, not in thought, but exploring the feel of his calf with my ankle. Shifting back to get closer. If he wasn't awake, he should be now. Me? Elated.

I don't know how many times I fall boneless against him but the warm glow shines brighter through the shades from my windows. My eyes crack open and I stare at them. Nothing comes to mind for a few seconds when I wake. I feel the weight and warmth beside me and all the memories rush in. I look around and this isn't quite right. The room is upside down. The sheets are twisted around us. My boobs are bare and apparently, free range to be his cushions. We're at the foot of the bed. Pillows sprawled on the floor just like his limbs all over me.

I reach over and dab at his nose with a finger. When that only makes him scrunch it, I grab his hand and lift it off the bed just to watch it fall again. I unstick his hand from my boob and crawl over his back and lie there. Maybe I pat his ass cheek a few times for good measure.

"What the fuck did we do?" I whisper against his nape.

He suddenly pushes himself up. His hair in delicious disarray. I almost tumble off of him. "Please don't tell me you don't remember."

I kiss his neck. "Sorry. I do. It was rhetorical."

He plops back down, sending me with him. He's silent for a while. "You said it. We fucked. A lot."

"Oh, fuck."

"Yup."

We lie here. I wish it wouldn't end. He's here. He came to me. "You scared me you know," I admit out loud.

"I know. I'm sorry."

"You broke my lamp, too."

"Negative. Your butt did." He turns his head to relieve the kinks from his neck. "Cute butt, though."

I hide a smile on his shoulder blade.

We landed on this side of the bed when he pulled me onto his lap. All the feelings attached. I don't think I've ever been so...turned on. He's good, so, so good, in every way. Just as I imagined, more. I blush because, damn, I pounced, went a little nuts. Both of us. All these years pent up. We were completely out if it. Bite marks, faint purple skin, and half moons scabbing up under my fingertips. I trace some on his back, brightened by the morning sun.

"I have to pee, but if I go to the bathroom you'll see me naked," I admit some more.

He chuckles. His back moves, making me bounce. I feel it in places that make my eyes flutter. "Sorry to break it to you, I've seen it all."

I sigh. "Even that night?" I cringe to ask. He's quiet, eyes closed. He nods faintly after a moment. "Were you a gentleman, cover me up?" I glance at his profile. His eyes blink and stare at something across the room.

I cover his lips with my index. "No, don't tell me."

I climb off him when he starts to sit up. He turns. His forearms frame my shoulders where I lay back down. He hovers over me. One kiss. Two. He lets go of my lips but his thumb skims my forehead. "A perfect gentleman, like my mom taught me. But I can't say I didn't take a peek." He smirks faintly.

I push a laugh through my nose. I cover my face with my hands. The weight of the thought turns a chuckle to a lump in my throat. He brushes away the tear that escapes. He watches it disappear from my temples along with the mortification. He's patient. He waits.

I look into his eyes and realize one thing. The pharmacy. Two warm cups in his hands.

"But I woke up alone. You weren't here. And I thought...when I saw you at the pharmacy. I didn't understand," I tell him.

"You ran." He confirms. I nod not able to speak. I settle for swallowing heavy and waiting.

"Well..." He runs a finger over my brows. "I wasn't sure how you'd react waking up beside me instead of him. I figured you'd need a coffee and a long explanation." He tilts his head to watch me. "I saw you run into the pharmacy. I followed."

I close my eyes. "God." I shade them with a palm. Then I pull him into a hug and he complies. "I'm such a moron," I whisper.

"Shh." His lips by my ear. I breathe. We fit like a glove. It's so comfortable like this. I almost drift again.

"Why didn't you tell me?" I have to ask. He shakes his head after a moment.

"I, uh...thought I overstepped. I thought you wanted him here, after. It wasn't my place. And...I was angry, enraged when I found out about... I should've known. I should've..." His fist comes around a mound of bed sheets. He buries his face in my neck. He sighs.

"I'm sorry. I was going to tell you, but I didn't know how to bring it up. I should've been watching, protecting you from...shit like this." He shakes his head over my shoulder. "It would've broken your heart, and...I couldn't have kissed you after." I feel him grin but it fades along with his guilt-ridden voice.

I swallow a few times to compose myself. "But I never did...want him. I was an idiot. I was just trying to get a reaction out of you. You're a locked box I can't decode. It was always you I wanted," I whisper, choking up.

I laugh through leaking tears. "It did...break my heart, and you did kiss me."

"No, you kissed me first." He straightens and looks at me.

I scoff and laugh. "Because you're a coward."

"Ouch." He looks around, suddenly quiet. "Yeah, I am."

He sits up at the edge of the bed. Rubs his face. I flush at the sight. All of that all over me. I sneak a peek when he stands, walks around trying to find his jeans. How many times have I dreamed him up like this in my room? He's gorgeous...and shameless. It almost makes me feel bold. I slowly swing my legs over the edge, try my hardest not to grab something to cower under. I busy myself with grabbing fallen pillows after the war and find that bra again. I should frame it.

I feel him watching me and I instantly tense. I pretend I don't notice. I busy myself with sheets next, but he's suddenly close. I instinctively cover up the knockers to look up at his hooded eyes.

"This...right here." He pushes the sheets away to trail a finger down the valley between my breasts, the dimple there, sternum to navel. I'm bathed in the morning light, covered in silhouettes from the window. "Olive skin and shadows," he mutters to himself, as he slowly runs a palm down from dimple to the flexing muscles of my belly. My breathing is all off.

"Wish I had my camera," he says, pulling me in, crushing my bare chest to his, hours of being pressed together, sheathed with sweat, still warm to the touch with him near. He runs a hand all over.

"I'd break it," I say.

He laughs. "We'll see about that." He smacks my behind lightly. "Go. Head start. I'll meet you in the shower."

And just like that, every hope and wet dream comes true for this hopelessly romantic girl.

….


	9. Chapter 9 - Sidewalk

**A/N: Happy first day of the year! May your goals start off spectacular. Thank God 2016 is over. Phew. Crossing my fingers for a better year.**  
 **Eventually I'll fix the grammar issues for all chaps. I hear you and see your reviews... that are in 'guest' mode and I can't reply to. RL has been a rush and I don't have a moment to get that settled yet. I'd rather not withhold the posts. If you see something horrific, please PM me. I love you for caring and reading anyway!  
**

 **Enjoy.**

* * *

 **Chapter 9: Sidewalk  
**

I'm so giddy. Like the giddy mode is a thousand percent right now. I try so hard to hide it. I'm cool, I'm calm, but not inside.

We go out after a lazy morning of doing unspeakable things in the shower and outside of it. Now we nonchalantly walk down the square and no one knows. There's this thing about walking side by side and you don't know if it's OK to hold hands. I mean, we've been friends for years. We never had to hold hands, except when he was really putting the flirt on heavy in cocky mode. We actually did touch, probably more than friends appropriately should. But now what? After sharing more than spit, how do you act around each other?

His arm brushes against mine once in awhile. I contemplate on just grabbing it and hooking my forearm around his as we walk towards somewhere to eat. I look up at him. He's in his thoughts. I bump into him purposely to get a reaction. He looks down at me, smiles. I take the moment. I curl my arm around his.

Not only does he comply but he also slides my hand in his, fingers comfortably through each one. Tingles up my arm.

"Hungry?" I ask.

"Starving," he says with a smirk. I look away to hide my pearly whites. He leans in and plants a kiss on my scalp.

"Yeah, sorry I only have Lucky Charms. I wasn't expecting guests."

He hooks his arm around my neck keeping our hands locked so my arm is slightly hugging me.

"I wish I could take you to New York. There's this deli across the street. Urgh," he groans. "I swear, every morning I spend half my day's salary there."

He looks down at me when I don't say anything but hum. "What?"

"Nothing." I shake my head. "That's nice. Around here there's not much but Dunkin' Donuts. It's sad." We arrive at a bistro and settle in a booth. Thankfully, to my giddy self, it's the type where we get to sit side by side.

I pick up my menu but he grabs it and puts it aside. He lifts my chin up to look at him. "What is it?"

I lay it on him. "You never told me you were going to live in an apartment. Who's the owner? Did he really pay for college?"

He lets go and looks at me. "He was my mom's high school boyfriend. They drifted but some years later they reconnected. I was young but I remember how she looked at him." He picks up his menu. "He never married. He was kind of...always there. Especially after her death."

"Oh. Did she still love him?"

His brows lift in affirmation. "I used to tell her to leave my sorry excuse for a father and run away with him." He chuckles.

"Wow. Did she?"

He shakes his head. "She was too good."

We order. He gets a Guinness. I order one, too, and he gives me a look. I grin.

"That's not all you wanted to ask, was it?" He asks before taking a sip when the drinks arrive. Gah. He knows me well.

I play dumb. "Yep."

"I rode a bus for hours to be here with you, not Jess, or Chloe, or Jimenez, or...who else was it you said?" he mutters over his beer. Stunned, I keep quiet. Touché.

When he leans in after a beat, he whispers, "Kiss?" I do, wholeheartedly. We pull apart and he's staring at me. "I've always wanted you. I just couldn't have you."

My brows knit. I stay close. "Always? Since when, always?"

He pecks at my lips softly. "You in the middle of a moshing crowd in a concert—always."

My stomach fills with flutters. I stare at those lips I felt that night in the middle of it. "Then you left this girl wrecked for months. I hated you for a long time." His head dips. I feel his lips on the back of my hand resting on his shoulder.

"I know. It showed. You were indifferent every day," he says. I was. I wanted to show him I didn't want him. Pride, I guess.

"Why?" I ask after a moment.

"Why what?" He watches his fingers go beneath the hem of my shirt. My breathing picks up. He's never allowed himself to be this forward. I notice this now.

"Couldn't have me," I reiterate. His fingers still over the swell of my breast, gingerly tracing the top lace of my bra. New lucky bra. The nervous hunt for a pretty, clean, matching paír in my underwear drawer when he wasn't looking.

He pulls away to grab his glass instead. He sips. Licks his lips. I itch to touch them, so I do. He watches me explore. He bites on a digit before I move on to trace his jaw. The things I've longed to do on any given day I get to do them now.

He looks away. The crowd in the bistro is busy, moving, chatting. Everything loud but for his response. "Doesn't matter."

The food arrives ending the subject. I can't ask any more questions. We eat quietly and this part feels normal. We'd share our meals all the time. One split sandwich here, another bite of something there. He'd reach to devour my perfect forkfuls midair. I hated that. And I realize I still do as he pops one into his mouth.

"Finish eating so we can stop by my place. Have to grab my camera," he says.

My stomach drops and so does my pace. I make exaggerated gestures of how a snail would move if it was human size and eating at a bistro. He pushes a laugh through his nose as he chews.

"You're not getting away. Not after all I've discovered under those clothes of yours."

Holy hell. Giddy.

...

I hear a click. My eyes unstick. The room is dark but for a glow. I'm on the precipice of falling into a dream again. It's a good one. I don't want it to end. You anticipate what comes next, dying to know. _Please, let nothing interrupt so I'll see the end._ I blink and a surge of heat flows. Said dream wasn't a dream after all, but real. His lips were everywhere. Can't seem to find shame in being naked anymore. Not after another night of...everything. Sharing this bed with a man. A skilled one at that. Finally.

All symbolism of a confusing, terrifying night, is past tense, gone, once he carried me to this bed.

I don't turn, but I hear the shutter click. The sheets drape off the bed from around my lap, lit by the glow of candles. I shift. His side of the bed is cold. _His side_ —forever will be.

"Shh, go back to sleep." I feel a light weight on my hip from behind. He pulls his hand away when I close my eyes.

I cover my face with a hand before I drift again. Heavy lids. I can't keep them open long enough to try and run away or hide. No energy. Us, on every furniture of this house. The kitchen, where it began, is covered in items of clothing over chairs and countertops, trailing to the couch.

This sandman has some kind of powers—camera in hand, defeating evil shadows, saving the world one exposure at a time. There's no way he's showing these to anyone. I'll kill him. I tell him through a mumble to remind him. "I will cut your gorgeous dick off."

"Shh…" He hushes and rocks me back to sleep. It's all I remember. I open my eyes again and it's morning so quickly. I groan.

"Why am I awake?"

I hear a chuckle. "Because I woke you." He's hovering over me. Smiling down. Fucking happy.

"Oh god, you're a morning person?" I ask, more like accuse him.

"Nah, just this particular one." I palm his face and push.

"Go away a little bit."

He sticks out his tongue and wets my palm. "Nope. Up. Lunch, then I have to go back."

I pull him in, elbow around his neck. "Don't go away." He pecks my shoulder. Then my neck. Then lower. He tugs on sheets. If this isn't the best wake up call, I don't know what is.

"This," he murmurs where he plants a kiss below my navel. "All of this." His fingertips graze sensitive skin. He crawls to the bottom of the bed leaving a trail of fire down my legs. He stands, bare and at the ready. I watch him stroke himself. My intuition is to crawl there and help even with all the kinks, and soreness as I stretch. I can barely breathe as my thighs press together. I squirm.

"I always knew it. Fucking beautiful," he says.

He must be talking about himself. The view from my pillow I'll never forget.

The moment my knees part, his eyes travel there. Dark, watching as my fingers mimic his rhythm, buried in warmth and wetness, what he does to me. He blinks slowly as he lets out a groan.

He quickly leans and pulls on my legs. I'm tugged to the bottom of the bed. I don't hesitate to comply, to let him do what he likes. He likes it slow, then he likes it hard.

The room fills with our sounds along with the chirping of morning outside. I fist bundles of sheets by my head. The rhythm, pulling and pushing, has me saying things I can't comprehend. I dare to look through slits of my lids, him, standing there. It's just plain fantasy. This can't be it. He can't leave me like this today.

"Bella…" He's breathless. He watches all of it. His chest glistening. Muscles tense down his pecs and torso. His hand slips off my inner thigh when he can't muster the strength to stand. He finds leverage at each of my knees. I'm split apart, legs and heart. I let my hands free to help him, because he won't, he can't stop. I plead desperately. His hips so hard against my knuckles there, keeping the juncture of my thighs from burning, from screaming like I do. He can't stop. I will not let him.

"Please," I beg him. He shifts those white-knuckled fists to either side of my head. His knee pushes onto the bed. He grunts. The pressure tenfold. His gray eyes like ice, they gaze down at these moving mounds he's grown to love through the lens of his camera. He thrusts and watches them mesmerized. He takes one into his mouth. He licks. Stars behind my lids.

Just as I knew it would, his pace hardens. "Baby…come on." Those words send me down that precipice. Tears trail my temples because I could tell him, I could tell him right now those words that weave and bind.

I press my heel to his back and he finishes with all the strength left in him. He melts, putty in my hands wrapped around him as he catches his breath.

"Right now. Just like this. I want to capture you pink and red. Please...let me." He curls his knees and straightens them. I wrap my arms around his neck giving him the OK. Anything. I'm the putty.

He lifts me onto his waist. The chaise by the window his stage. He sits. I gasp. Burning skin between us. He bucks slow, steady. He looks at me. "So lovely." My head swims. He pulls it back. I close my eyes to just feel him. His hand weaves into my hair that skims his thighs. The shutter takes off. His hips move between clicks, regardless. I dig my knees on either side of him and bury him inside me. He hisses, hands trembling around the lens. He holds on, manages a few clicks, as I find a slow rhythm. The lens dips when his eyes close.

When he can't anymore, he kisses me hard, drops the old bundle to the floor to start this all over again under the morning sun.

This room has been our cocoon the entire weekend. When he slips the olive green sweetness over a white t-shirt, I could push him back into the room again. My hero has a costume and forever will be seen as such, I just won't ever tell him.

He grabs the doorknob and I stop him. I lean on the front door and turn to him. "Promise me you'll tell me when you'll be back."

"I will." He nods once.

"And promise me you'll never, ever, pretend this was nothing. It wasn't. I'd like my deserved attention at least once a day. A text. A call. A Skype. A damn owl. Anything."

He grabs my face. "How could I ever? You've marked me. Do you have any idea?" I shake my head honestly. Does he mean through his heart or his lens? "I'll show you," he says. He reassures before a kiss.

Holding hands is like second nature. Locked and loaded for the world to see that we're different than we used to be. He plants soft kisses on the back of mine as we sit at another diner before he leaves. He closes his eyes and presses his lips to my hand, holding back from telling me something. I'm patient. I wait.

"Would you let me?" he finally asks. I sigh. I know what that means. I do this nervous laugh.

He wants to use them, add them to his portfolio. Every naked ass cheek and boob of mine exposed. Since they're still in film, undeveloped, I haven't seen the photos.

"Oh, god. Masen…" I shake my head.

"Please, I'll do anything." He takes a nip of my knuckles. I feel it everywhere. He leans a cheek there. "Bella, they're amazing. They're my best work."

I look into his eyes. I've never seen him this desperate.

"What did you even do? Who will you show them to?" I chuckle. "Who would even care?"

He's dumbfounded, kind of pissed. "Do you have any idea how absolutely gorgeous you are? I fucking captured oil paintings. The dark shots, the shadows, my god, like the stars aligned and you were nonchalantly sleeping through it." He shakes his head, looking away. "All this time, if I knew, I'd give in, no hesitation." He mumbles to himself.

I keep silent. Cheeks flush. I watch him run through visions in his head and I don't interrupt. His excitement is so tangible I could touch it. He hides it with all his might, it's turned to worry now. His hands idly run over my knuckles and fingertips as it simmers inside him. He barely blinks.

Before I answer him the bill arrives. He snatches it out of my grasp. He signs the slip and slips his hand in mine when we step outside. The bus station is a few blocks down. He waits, head down, letting the comfortable silence between us stretch until it's comical. It bubbles up. I laugh loud. He looks up surprised. A grin appears tentatively over his lips. He searches my face through knitted brows.

I don't need to answer, I guess, he's already picking me up and spinning me on the middle of the sidewalk. I yelp. He holds me like An Officer and a Gentleman, dips me for a kiss. Passersby step around us. He pulls back, slips me to my feet. "Thank you, thank you," he whispers and plants a hard kiss on these smiling lips.

"Bella." My name said sternly. This frost chills my spine when I hear it. I look over Masen's shoulder. Rose. She's standing by, watching. Anger pales her.

Masen steps back. He looks and he pales a different way.

"So, this is nice. Real cozy." She isn't looking at me.

"Um, yeah. Hi." I grab onto his hand. She looks at that and her brow lifts. Masen says nothing when he pushes his hands into his pockets.

She smiles brightly and it's chilling. I was raised with this woman and I know that smile. When that smile appears, nothing pleasant stands behind it.

"You know, I was debating something all morning. But I've finally decided. Excuse me, I have to pay an old friend a visit. It was...great seeing you two."

She walks past us and after a stride or two, she turns. "By the way, Bella, I was just heading to your apartment because your irresponsible self never picks up the phone. Mom's in the hospital. If you think you could make time today, call me." With that, she leaves.

Masen is already at the edge of the sidewalk about to cross the street. I run to his side.

"Hey. Sorry. She can be...a bitch at times." I tell him. But he doesn't look at me.

"No, I get it. Go. Your mom needs you. I'll see you next week, probably, depending on how it goes after the company protest." He glances at me from under his lashes.

I take a step back. "OK," I say. He adjusts his backpack tightly to him. "Well, I guess I'll see you then…right?" I search his eyes.

He finally looks at me. "Of course." He leans down and adds a chaste kiss to the ending of our weekend. I curl my arms around his neck and force him to face me before I add a real kiss. He gives in. He lingers, eyes closed.

As soon as I let go he steps off the sidewalk. I stand here to watch. He's a speck far away, weaving through the crowd, but I can still see him. I wait. I pray. _Please, just once._ But he never looks back. All the brightness I've consumed these past few days dims, just like that.


	10. Chapter 10 - Kiss

**A/N: Sorry for the Delay. Long ass week, lots of RL work. Posting next chap in a couple days.**

* * *

 **Chapter 10 - Kiss**

I'm crying. Mom is running her hand over my face. "Hush, baby doll. Hush." She coos softly. I should be the one making her feel better not the other way around. She lays in the hospital bed for a week with tubes hanging from all places. Her lymph nodes swollen, white T cells low. They're still figuring it out. I'm crying for her but it just looks bad when I break down the moment I tell her about him, the affection on the sidewalk, Rose. But really just..all of him—the wonder of being together yet how he's vanished out of thin air.

"My baby is in love," she says to herself. Her fingers trail my brows, my head on her lap. A fat tear streams down my temple. I hold back the pitiful sob when she says that. How true the words.

"Don't worry about Rose, Bella. She's like her father. Stubborn but fiercely loves. She's all heart." The words just anger me more. Still, doesn't give her the right.

I ran here straight from work. It's Friday and so many horrible things in one week, today the ultimate nightmare. I just let it all out as I was fumbling with the lid to the tapioca for mom. The fucking lid wouldn't budge. That's all it took.

The moment Rose walks in, I'm up. I grab my bag and walk right out.

 _Monday, 4 days earlier_

"Say the word and I'll keep him away for good," he says. He's insisting.

I can't speak. I'm just numb, maybe mute from the panic. My mouth is glued shut.

"Did he do it?" Emmett asks again. The third time. I want to run. I glance at the door and the lock is turned. I wonder how fast would I manage to get it open before he grabs me.

"It's important. I don't want an offender working in my Local. It's not how it should go. You know this. I know it's difficult but you have to be honest. Did he do it?"

I look up at Emmett behind his desk he's calm with his knee bent over the other, leaning back in his chair, hands folded over his lap. It's like he's having a casual conversation with me about the weather, not about a sexual offense.

I swallow thickly trying not to look into his eyes. The frames on the wall are crooked. Maybe I should tell him they are.

"Bella, it's crucial. This is a legal issue. I need to know." He explains some more. But I know. I already know. He doesn't have to say. I'm not an idiot. If this happened anywhere else, the disgusting pervert would be gone, locked up in jail.

Jane's eyes staring back at me is all that floods my mind right now. I walked into work and I thought, fuck it, I'm not the one who should be hiding. I was at my desk all morning staring at skype hoping the outlined avatar would turn green beside his picture. Masen was nowhere insight. Not even a text. A few from me but he ignored them. I'm pissed, but mostly over Rose. What has she done? What was the damage?

Jane walked by and sat at her desk. Her words scrawled on email. "I'm sorry. Really." She didn't look up from her monitor. Her demeanor was darkened and down-cast. She sent another email. "Bella, it was stupid. I was drunk and blown, I wasn't thinking straight, at all. I regret it. I'm so, so sorry." She never looked that unkept since I've met her.

Ben came in late, not even a glance my way. He sat at his desk and he looked stoned. He's on something and it goes to show how nonchalant he is. I'm killing myself as he moves on, not a care in the world. That made me angrier.

I never hit reply to that email full of apologies. Even if I'd relented and replied, I would not have had the chance. Emmett called me into his office the moment he walked in. He was late for once. His five o'clock shadow a morning one. My stomach plummeted as I walked in behind him.

So, I'm here, sitting in Emmett's partially ripped leather chair adjacent to his desk, pleading from my insides to let me free from this. But he can't hear me. I haven't answered him.

"Those frames are all fucked up. They make your office look sloppy," I utter. He stares at me. His patience thin.

"Fine. You don't even have to speak. Just a nod will do. Confirm it for me and I'll understand and not ask you again," he says.

I watch the angled wooden frames and nod. "No," I say. He's quiet for a moment.

"Which one?" His head tilts as he leans his elbows on his desk.

"The latter."

"Then why the nod?" He shakes his head. I swallow hard.

"Because it doesn't mean he didn't try."

He sighs, rubs his face. God, have we stressed him out dry. He looks older than even a month ago. "Do you want to press charges?" he asks.

I roll my eyes and shake my head. "With what proof? It's no use."

He nods. "How did it happen?" he asks, but the problem about answering that question is I don't know what happened. I keep quiet.

"So, you're not going to mention at all how your drink was tampered with and you were drugged?"

I cut my eyes to his. _He knows._ "How would I prove that also? That was a long time ago. Their word against mine. You know laws, Emmett."

He sighs. "How did it happen?"

"I can't," I say getting up from the chair. "I don't remember anything. Honestly, ask someone else. Maybe Masen if you get a hold of him, because I sure as fuck can't."

He stands. The wheels on his chair squeak as they roll back. "Thank you, Bella. You are brave and I know it was difficult…" he trails away as I nod and walk out. I can't listen anymore. The mortification of having this conversation with Emmett makes me hugely uncomfortable.

I wheel myself snug into my desk and don't look back. Kate is furious on skype asking questions. I try to answer a few but I give up after a while. I can see her looking at me from around her monitor anxious. I pick up my laptop and head out to Chipotle. I can't be here right now. Thankfully, Kate doesn't follow.

All afternoon I glance at the building imagining Masen walking out the way he always did when I was hiding here. He doesn't show up, though, not even on skype. I'm tempted to message Jess just to ask but I'm not that desperate. I'm just...angry.

I stab a bean on my plate, look up to watch traffic when I see Kate. She's running between cars. I straighten in my chair watching her rushing across the street in heels. She never runs in heels. Something must be wrong.

She rushes through the doors and tries to compose herself so people won't stare or be alarmed. She sits in front of me with a huff.

"They let Jane and Ryan go," is all she says. Blood drains from my face. I let my mouth hang open.

I point. "Like right now?"

"Yup. Out the door. With police escort. They're going to be questioned."

I look out towards the building. A police car stops outside the building. "About what?"

"Emmett called security after firing Ben. He went apeshit at the office and Emmett found drugs on him. He confessed that Jane had something on her, too. They looked in her stuff and Ryan's. They're taking them all in."

I look at Kate. She shrugs, hands failing in haste. "Apparently Emmett already knew. He just needed your confirmation to proceed."

"But who would know, who would tell him?"

She shakes her head. She reaches for my hand and stands like she's ready to pull me to my feet. "I don't know. Listen. That's not the point. I ran here because of Masen. You have to come back." She hooks a thumb towards the office. "They're letting him go, too."

My stomach drops to my feet. "What? But he didn't do anything!"

She flails her arms towards the door in exaggerated motions. "No shit!" She hisses. I pick up my things and run after her.

Emmett is talking to an officer when I run in. I rush towards him. "Emmett," I call. He lifts a finger for me to hold on.

I wait to the side, antsy. He's having a long conversation. I can't wait. "Emmett!" I practically yell. He looks, so does the cop.

"Bella, I need a second."

"No, you can't fire Masen, he had nothing to do with it."

He lifts a hand and turns. "Thank you, Officer." They shake hands. "I'm willing to cooperate with anything you need. You have my contact information. Please, don't hesitate to call." They walk towards the front desk to the door.

The sidewalk is replete with officers now. Some pedestrians look around hoping to catch a glimpse of what's going on as the blue and red lights whirl silently over cruisers.

I spot Ben in the back of one of them, head back, eyes closed, probably relieved he can enjoy the high for once. I can't see Jane, nor Ryan.

Emmett walks back into the office. He lifts his hands my way. "I need a break. Long ass morning. I don't want any shit for the rest of the week."

"Ok, sure, but I just need to explain one thing." I step in his path before he locks himself in his office. "You know Masen. You know he wouldn't be involved. He didn't do anything."

Emmett walks around me as he sighs.

"Emmett, please."

He stops just at the door. "Look. It's out of my hands. There's nothing I can do. He _was_ amongst the involved since he refrained information from me. He's not a hero, he should not have been handling things on his own as a superior and Lead organizer. He was going to quit anyway." He cringes suddenly. His hand goes over his eyes with an exhausted swipe. "Nevermind I said that. Just leave it. This isn't your concern. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a shit ton of resumes to sift through because half my staff is gone and I have a board meeting tomorrow morning. Fuck!" he says, his face red, anger gripping him. With that, he slams the office door shut.

I'm frozen in place. This can't end like this and I know exactly who stirred this up. If she won't fix it, no one will.

At 5 I run out of work. All day I simmered in anger. All day I tried to contact Masen. I got nowhere with both. I went so low as to skype Jess but she never answered. I didn't know who to talk to and I really felt like I'd explode. Serrano's phone was flooded with texts in seconds. His encouraging and soothing words interjected when I gave him the chance.

I run up the townhouse steps and push the doorbell. When nothing happens. I do it again. And again. Soon enough the bell is a continuous cacophony of noise.

The door swings open. "What the…"

I don't let Rose finish. "You bitch!"

She makes a face like ' _here we go.'_ "Bella…"

"No! You're a ratchet, mean, evil human. You think you own my life and do with it as you please? Well, it's over, and you're done. You're not Dad. He's gone. Stop acting like you need to be this overbearing, protective guardian because I don't need fucking saving."

"How many times do I have to say it? I told you not to get involved with anything that concerns him. He isn't good."

"Isn't good for who?"

"Whom," she corrects.

"Argh!" I practically jump, arms flailing, feet stomping. "Are you fucking serious right now?" She rolls her eyes and shrugs around her folded arms. "They fired him because of you! He lost his job. Are you happy?"

She looks surprised but hides it with a tug of her hair. She focuses past me.

"Well, that definitely wasn't my intention. But, really, who's to say it was something else? He can be...scatter brained. Irresponsible. Fucking childish."

I stand still. Horror strikes me witnessing this person I don't know before me. She isn't my sister. This is a bitter woman who's determined to believe whatever serves up in her head about a man. And then it clicks. I watch her demeanor. She's closed off and actually looks hurt. She tugs on her hair and it's one of many mannerisms she does when she's exactly that. Why didn't I notice?

She's quiet. She shifts her weight to her other hip. "Are you done with your insults? I need to go back inside and ignore this charade even happened." She waves a hand.

"What happened between you two?" I ask. Her eyes cut to mine. Curveball. Her lips part from their firm angry line but nothing comes out. "What did he do to you?"

She scoffs then laughs. "Ok."

"A woman isn't this angry over a man for excuses like 'he's no good'. He must've done something to be on such a shitlist."

She steps into her apartment. "This is ridiculous. I don't have time for this, Bella. It doesn't always have to be about that. Grow up."

I wedge my boot against the door to keep it wide open. "I'm all grown. Look at me. I just want to know, woman to woman, what a man did? Did he lead you on then ran off with someone else?"

She looks at me. Her eyes unblinking.

"Was it when he tore your heart apart while you sat across the room watching him kiss someone else? Or maybe when he'd make you feel like you were the only person in the world as he catered to every emotional need you craved with touches and love and his undivided attention?"

Her brows knit. "Bella." She takes a step towards me. Her arms unfolding ready to comfort and soothe me back to easiness, clearly taken aback by my confessions. Of course, she wouldn't know. I've never told her.

"No." I step back. "I'll take care of it this time. You've done enough. He's gone. You can rest assured it turned out just as you wanted." I walk away.

"Bella, please!"

"I'm going to go see mom and I don't want to see you there!"

...

Serrano is coming. His job has to send him back here for the opening of the new offices. He volunteered to help which is perfect. I help get him get situated and he can help me not crumble. He was trying to keep it a surprise but all of my texts and phone calls since Monday made him spill. He reassured he'd be here. I'm so over the moon elated. I have no one to talk to, not even my own sister since that went to shit.

The office has been quiet all week feeling the absence of four co-workers. They were the most outgoing, leaving behind the introverts who were pushed to their full potential by infectious boldness. Even Emmett is quiet around us. It feels like a death in the family.

The board was tough on him. He didn't take it well. They're talking about breaking up the Local and disbursing into others around the city. I might have to move on and get to know new people, work for new people and hopefully not fuck up relationships with new people.

Kate and I are trying our best to stay together, like sibling orphans. No one wants us anymore—her words, not mine. But I agree. It's heartbreaking and terrifying. This Local really had something special when we weren't drugging each other or feeling each other up. So many nights of great company and fantastic conversations that went on way into dawn. I miss it. It was like college but instead of graduating and moving on to better things, we were yanked apart by our superiors.

I feel to blame for all of it. Kate thinks it's ridiculous to feel this way but I can't help it. Maybe if I'd gone home more nights rather than follow Masen and the group to a bar we wouldn't be going through this adolescent drama. I would've been straight with him, sitting on my couch when he was beside me, not chasing him around town hoping he'd notice me. I'd tell him without hesitation my heart. I wish I could turn the hours back to the warmth and the cozy throw pillows and his honest eyes. I'd tell him everything.

So, I woke up today and decided I'll forget him. It's best. Anger has passed and I'm done wondering, hoping and planning his slow excruciating death if I ever see him again.

He lied. He failed me once again like a thousand times. This time, though, it's the hardest because I actually had him for once, or did I? Why am I holding on to something unhealthy, or dare I say, not good? I hate to think I'm agreeing with Rose. I'd rather gouge my eyes out than ever admit that.

It's Wednesday and I'm getting ready to go to work, sneak out after and pick up Serrano at the airport. Despite the sorrow and bitterness I can't help but feel relief and excitement. My friend is coming. I didn't have to move away with him to escape. My escape is coming to me.

I'll take him to the hospital to visit mom with dinner in hot bags and try to sneak it in. I can't wait. Something to do. Something to distract. It's Rose's night at the state house meeting, so I don't need to worry she'll be there.

I work at my desk. Quiet as quiet can be. I reach for folders under binders and a few sheets slip out and whirl to a stop on his desk. _His_ desk. I'm so used to seeing it unorganized I didn't realize it's _still_ unorganized. His things are here, yet he's been let go.

My chair creaks as I swivel. I stare and I stare at his things. His pencil bitten down, eraser worn out to metal, lying by his scribblings on a yellow notepad. I notice my name. I pick it up. I read from the top. It's a schedule for his day.

 _Call Garcia the Janitor  
Start presentation outline  
Ask Bella to lunch  
Ask Bella to dinner if lunch is declined  
Meeting with Emmett about New York  
Ask Emmett to let her go with me._

The latter is scratched out roughly. The list continues about work. But my name...my name is outlined multiple times. The dark lead of the pencil heavy and shiny where it fills in over itself.

Right to my gut. I flick the pad away. It lands on the corner of the desk where I can't see it. I get back to work and try to focus.

 _I was the first choice for New York._ Just that thought makes my eyes wander off my laptop screen to a wall, straight for that cracked paint I stare at where "what ifs" dance around in my head and daydreams turn disappointment into happy endings. The musings of anger start up again.

There's a protest at 4:30. The rest of us pack our things to meet the workers at the location. We're there for an hour before I have to sneak out. Before I do I watch the picket signs bounce from over people's heads as I look back to see smiling faces of all colors coming together.

Workers from a shipping corporate company stomp down the front of the grounds. The chanting rhythmic and intoxicating. People passing by stop to watch.

"What do we want? Change! When do we want it? Now!" shouts Garcia, the janitor who became the voice of the entire force. The quiet, short, and round caramel skinned man caught everyone's hearts with his passion. He fights for overtime pay and better health benefits for their families. In the Dominican Republic, he was a Literary professor in his early thirties. His decision to start a better life in the States and accept the demotion was ultimately better than living where'd come from. Years as a citizen helped him find his voice and the voice for others who are just like him.

I'm proud of them. They've all become friends with the months of communicating, house visits and meetings we've shared along the process. All with Masen. This was our project together. He's not here to see the results.

I hug Sue around her shoulder when I find her. She smiles brightly. Her kids more than the count of her fingers. Some are older, struggling to go to college, some younger with a few adopted ones from her late sister who passed years back. Better pay and benefits for her children would mean the world to her. I laugh watching her because she was the toughest to convince to join the Union, afraid she'd be fired. Now she stands with a sign in hand, hands that worked hard making meals at the cafeteria for years.

"Where's Edward?" She asks, leaning in for me to hear over the noise. She wiggles her brows and snickers. I can't help but chuckle even with the pang in my chest. Sue fancies Masen, always has. The days we would meet with her I enjoyed the most. I'd watch how uncomfortable Masen would get when she'd flirt and pet him far too much for a professional relationship. He didn't care, he'd go along with it just to get that signature of hers. He only allowed hugs to his torso. It was all she could reach with her short height anyway.

I tell her I don't know and smile. She looks disappointed. I don't tell her I am, too.

I look over the crowd who've taken measures with bravery and hope to get what they want. They're happy and they're in solidarity. I'm miserable and alone. I should leave in case I'm contagious.

The airport is packed. I stand by a column by the gate exit. I look at the signs and marvel at all the flights going places. Maybe I should go. Start my life again and leave everything behind. It would be so easy. But then bills and mom. I wouldn't leave her. She's always been healthy and strong. Watching her in a hospital bed is jarring. I don't know how to help her. She needs someone. She's been alone since dad died. I want her to be happy.

People file out little by little from other gates so I know Serrano's is next. I stand on the tips of my toes and look for the dark mop of hair. It appears to the left and I squeeze through the crowd to get to him. He's pulling on a carry on when I jump his back.

"Ah!" He yelps. Some people look, some hug and kiss their loved ones without a glance our way. He staggers forward and turns to me when I slip off him.

He grabs my face. I'm smiling and holding onto his biceps. And then he's looking at me, really looking at me. My smile fades and so does his but it settles on something else. Like wonder or determination. I don't know. I'm about to ask what's wrong and I realize, maybe his mom isn't ok. Maybe his first words will be tragic. My brows knit and I step into his frame where he's holding me and settle my hands on his shoulders ready to hold him up if he begins to grieve.

"Tell me," I say to him. His fingers bury into my hair and curl around my neck. He's fiercely holding on. I'm patient. I wait.

He says nothing but his lips descends. My lips part to speak but he captures them just perfectly. I stand frozen. My eyes are open and I watch him do this. I try to step back but he's got me. He dares to move our lips, making them mold together in such a way. I grow red. My eyes blink shut and for some reason I let him. Desperate for something to make sense in my life, I let him. And it feels...good. Foreign to feel his tongue but not completely. It kind of...fits, right through my parted lips.

He tilts his head and kisses me with all this passion. From where? Where is this coming from? My fingers dig into his chest. He lets go with a soft slip.

"Wait, what?" My eyes are sealed shut when I mumble. He chuckles once. Thumbs running over the apples of my cheeks.

"See? Other fish in the sea. It should feel like that all the time," he says. He holds out his hand for me to grab and get out of here. "Shall we?"

I crack a smile and grab on. It's so like him to help me understand by doing. But as we walk I tilt my head to watch his profile. He's serious. His heart was there...on his sleeve. That was real. My heart pitters and then sinks. He's into this more than he shows, more than I am for him. More than I'll ever be.

"So what kind of fish are you in this...sea?" I ask. We swing our hands between us.

"Hmm. Maybe not fish but more like the tentacles kind. The eight legged ones."

I nod. "Hm. Exotic...and slightly perverted." There's a question over his face. "I mean you expect me to sleep with each one of those tentacles? Sorry. I have a job and things to do. You go fuck an octopus."

He laughs, head back. "GTFO?"

"Yup. Go To Fuck an Octopus. New meaning," I reiterate. He's laughing so hard his shoulders shake. I look up and he's watching me. Not Serrano, but Masen. My insides cramp up. Just instantly everything stops. My heart, my speech, my feet stuck to the old dingy carpet of Logan airport arrivals.

He's standing in the middle of the wide aisle. People go around him as he's in the way. His backpack by his feet. His jacket unbuttoned revealing a plaid button up shirt, the one he wears on Wednesdays. One thing is minuscule but I see it, all buttons are misplaced, leaving a tail longer. He's tired. Eyes red and dark circles under them. His hair is pulled back in off directions by fidgety fingers.

I glance quickly towards the monitor listing gates close by. _New York: Arrival on time_ brightly lit. I look back at him. His eyes travel to the tips of my toes and back up, then they traverse to our hands between us. He bends and picks up his backpack, hooks it over a shoulder and walks away.

Serrano has long grown silent. He's tense beside me and his hand has tightened around mine. When I try to take a step to run he pulls me right back.

"No. You don't run. You let _him_ come to you."

I'm left speechless, heart pounding because he won't come. He saw everything. The way this looked, I've moved on, I've let go. I wasn't here for him.

He stood there, bag on the floor where he probably dropped it. I just know, deeply, he must've seen me first and he was ready to come to me. Now he's not.

"He won't," I whisper as I watch him disappear into the crowd.


	11. Chapter 11 - Train

**A/N: Late night update for the night owls like me. Sweet dreams.**

* * *

 **Chapter 11 - Train**

Mom is on the bed propped up. She's currently patting Serrano's hand and laughing at something he said. It's ok. I don't want the attention right now. I need to be invisible. Well, I want to be. I wish I was invisible at the airport so he wouldn't have witnessed that weird thing that happened with a friend. A friend. It was supposed to be just that. I went to the airport to pick up a friend, not a boyfriend.

I chew on a bite of my panini. It's bland on my taste buds. I crunch and swallow anyway.

What excuse could I possibly give so I can run out of here straight to Masen's apartment? Bang on his door, make him see. My thumb hovers over his name on my phone ready to call him. But I don't. Not now. I'm too hysterical inside for a quiet hospital. I need a moment. Just a break. To run.

I fidget. I can't keep still. I have to do something. So, I settle for texting Kate and telling her everything. She types " _omg_ " like 50 times. So fitting. I read them each to the beat of my erratic heart.

 _"What do I do?"_ I text back. I look up to make sure Serrano doesn't notice. He'd snatch the phone away to tease, I know it. I wait and wait for her reply.

Finally, after two excruciating minutes, she says, _"You'll hate to hear this but, do nothing. Let him come to you."_

My shoulders drop. No. They don't get it. He won't. This is it. I tell her this to make her understand.

 _"Doesn't matter. He's been ignoring your calls and messages. It's up to him now."_

I want to cry. I stand to clean up the wrappers and cups so I won't burst. Mom looks at me once and doesn't look away. She knows something's up, of course, she does. She places her used wrapper in my hands and doesn't say a word. I give her a look. _Please, mom, not in front of Serrano_. She reads me loud and clear.

"Ok, it's late. Mom, you need to rest."

"Looks like you do, too," she says to him. "Long flight." And I love her. She's trying to shake him off for me.

"Yeah. Have to go to my hotel room now. All alone." He hints with a smile. I'm not biting. Not tonight. I'm on a mission. I need to get rid of him.

"So, you're taking a cab? Here's the landline. You can have them pull up by the doors downstairs," Mom suggests. I fucking love her.

"Oh. OK." He looks at me and grabs the phone. I keep busy tucking mom in.

"You shouldn't be driving that far this late. He'll be fine in a cab. OK?" she says to me.

I sigh trying to seem put off. "Mom, you're so bossy. I'm fine."

"No." She pats my hand. He's a grown, strong man who will take care of himself," she says with a smile his way.

He ends the call and smiles back. "She's right, Bella. I'll see you both again. Saturday?" We nod. "I'll be busy with work all day tomorrow and Friday. I won't be able to get away." I sigh a relief and feel horrible.

He grabs his things and kisses mom on the cheek. He turns to me and I go to do the same, but he has other ideas. His thumb and fingers catch my chin and he lays a firm peck on my lips.

 _OK, what is the deal?_ I smile and grow red again when he let's go. "Call me when you're home, OK?" he says. I nod.

"Go, gooo." I wave of my hand. My laugh tense.

Mom looks on with a silly smile on her face. I squeeze her fingers under mine. _Shut it._

He steps out the door and waves before walking away. Once he's gone I collapse over mom where I'm sitting on the bed. Tears springing instantly. I can't speak.

"Since when did you two start kissing? God, he kisses so yummy. Is he a good kisser? I can tell. Your father was fantastic at it. I've always said it's best to marry a great kisser."

I cry harder. She has no idea. Her chuckles rumble up from her chest bouncing me. I look up and she pulls on my tears with thumbs.

"Mom, he kissed me for the first time at the airport, like a man in love kisses a woman and...Masen saw the entire thing." My face scrunches. I let out a wail.

She looks at me with wide eyes. "The older boy from work? Rose's friend?" I nod. "I thought you didn't like him."

I bury my head in her neck and bawl my eyes out.

"I knew it!" She says to herself, this glee in her voice. "I knew there was a love story there. Tell me everything, baby." She presses her cheek to my head and rubs my back in soothing circles. "Don't leave out a detail. Momma needs her fix."

I can't help but laugh. Never have I seen mom without a book in her hands at home or on shelves in her room. The bindings in script lettering with heroines in bell dresses in an open ranch. Handsome Cowboys painted in the distance watching the delicate fair skinned woman who's new in town with a sad, tragic, mysterious story on her shoulders. She reads all the series attached and keeps them all lined up by volumes.

So, I tell her this story and it begins with me in a concert mosh pit and a kiss from a stranger who ruined all other men for me. I tell her about the lipstick and the job offer and his smile when he knew he had me close from then on. I tell her about the way he would look at me for years but never went as far as sitting on my couch telling me about his life. The dumpster, the kiss, his indifference and his confession. And when I get to the climax of the story, her eyes swell with wonder and questions. She braces herself but I don't let out a detail. The drunken night and Ryan and the morning after. Her brows knit in concern and anger about to protest. But I don't stop. I don't hesitate. I can't control myself. Every word spews from my lips.

Then, I tell her. That weekend of pure bliss. The night he came and yelled it in my face. She loves that part the best. Her eyes round up with that far away look. The grin on her face. But then all of this. Then Rose. The firing. The airport and no calls returned from him.

"So, you see?" I say. "He won't come. He won't. I have to find him." She understands. Her nod comes slowly but firm. She looks at the clock and looks at me.

"You still have time. Go, Bella. Go find him!" She pushes on my arm. I stand on wobbly legs and she smoothes down my dress and then my face. "Just be careful. Please."

I nod and run out of there with hope and a lighter heart.

...

His apartment is dark through the single window looking out to the street. I go down the steps to the bottom stoop of the three floor decker house. The steps cracked and weeds sprouting out. I bang on the door and wait. No answer. I bang again and look through the window. Silhouettes of boxes piled high take up room in his living room. _Where is he going?_

"Masen!" I bang on the door but it's all silent inside.

I sit on a step and I don't know what to do. My light heart grows heavy. I dial Emmett's number. He picks up on the fourth ring.

"Um, I'm sorry to bother but did Masen come around?"

The line is quiet. "I thought he was in New York. Sorry, last time I spoke to him was Yesterday in..." I sigh. I hang up mid sentence.

 _Who else could I ask?_ I'm in south Boston and I'm far from anyone I know and home. I wait and wait on his stoop until my bare legs are frozen and the jacket isn't doing anything to keep in body heat.

A group of drunks stagger out of a pub just across the street. My heart perks up. I walk across and pull on the heavy door. Smoke and music pour out to the street. I look around. There's not a head with hair in disarray in sight but buzz cuts and military fades. I stand at the bar.

"Hey, Pete." I wave a hand. The Soprano looking, gentle giant, comes over from behind the bar with a smile and a rag over his shoulder.

"What can I getcha, sweetheart?"

I ask if he's seen him. When he nods my heart pounds. "Was here earlier. Left. Moving to New York, is he? That traitorous bastard." He chuckles. "Told him he better wear his Red Sox hat proudly over there, 'cause fuck them Yankees," he says.

I try to smile but the blood drains from my face to my feet.

Moving. To New York.

I slip into a stool and stare at the bar when I grow dizzy. He gets an order from down the bar and walks away. I sit here for hours it seems. Sometime during, Pete places a glass in front of me and mutters that it's on the house. I sip and sip until I'm numb.

The bar grows empty little by little. Still, some strays hang around nursing their last drink. They sit with far away gazes just like mine and I wonder, maybe they've lost a love, too. Fuck love. Fuck romance and misunderstandings you can't explain to the one person who misunderstood.

Pete comes by and leans on the bar. He looks at me. _Here we go._

"I've been trying to distract some fellas from approaching you all night. Was tough. Lots of scotch gone and I'm light on tabs."

I smile. "Sorry."

"Go rest up, doll. You need some sleep," he says sweetly. I nod but don't move. Then he chuckles and shakes his head. He wipes down the bar with a rag.

"What?"

"Dejavu."

"How?" I ask with a grin.

He stops and looks at me. "He was sitting where you are with that same long face you've had all night, and I told him the same words."

I swallow thickly. "So...how did he react when you called him doll?"

He looks at me hard. He laughs wholeheartedly. I smile. Then I laugh. Then I can't stop. Pete and I take up the bar with our cackles. That wheezing coming out of him is hilarious. His face goes red and his nose plumps bigger it seems. He bangs a fist on the lacquered wood and points at the door.

"Scram. Get out of here! There's a cab up front. I won't have no more of your shit," he says. I sober and smile at him.

"Thanks, Pete." I slide my car keys to him like everyone does for one night and he has it ready to pick up the next morning. He's an angel. And it works. I pick my pitiful self up and walk to the door. "And um, would you…"

"I'll tell him you came by." He nods.

Everyone seems to notice but Masen.

I'm restless in bed. The one he laid in and breathed warmth into my neck. Where did we go wrong? It was perfect. I look out my bedroom door towards the front, hoping, wishing he'd walk right in through the door to the apartment and yell at me. Anything. At least I'd have him close.

...

It's one of those mornings. The one you regret just staying in bed and giving up from the get go. My hair dryer blew out. I twirled a wet bun at my nape. The coffee machine stopped working, but not before it spits out lava-like drops of dark roast on the hot plate, and then my chest. My whole outfit had to change. I'm late. The walk to Dunkin' Donuts is out of my way but I will not go through the day without caffeine and a hangover. And then I remember—no car. I almost pull my wet hair right out of my scalp.

I get to the subway and right when I'm about to hop on, the doors close on my face and the train leaves. I wait another 15 minutes for the next train, eyes closed, counting to 100 before I go ballistic.

I walk into work and slump at my desk and _please, no one bother me today_. Kate is already typing away, probably bombarding me with emails. She looks concerned. Then she can't take it anymore. She walks over.

"Um, you look slightly damp. You OK, hun?" I roll my eyes. The curls at my temples are already frizzing up. I am not the type who can wash and go. I envy those types. I hate those types.

"You don't wanna know."

"M-Kay, let's just go ahead and move you to the bathroom and touch you right up real quick. I have a travel dryer in my cabinet." I sigh and follow her.

My hands are shaking too much so she grabs the brush and pulls on parts of my hair one section at a time under the heat.

"Tell me your troubles," she says over the soothing sound. So, I do. She snorts when I tell her Serrano kissed me again, but in front of mom. She smiles when I tell her mom knows everything now and pushed me to do a grand gesture like her books. It failed miserably.

"But this is the topping on the latte..." I finish saying as she curls some locks of my bangs to frame my face. She's good at it. I turn this way and that way and my hair has never looked this Kardashian before.

"Whipped cream with caramel swirl type of topping?" she asks. I come to and avert my gaze from the mirror.

"He's moving to New York. The Big Apple. To the amazing city that never sleeps. Isn't that wonderful?" Oozing sarcasm.

"Eeek." She makes a face. Mine just tries to keep straight even as my eyes well up. "I'm sorry, hun," she says. We let the silence take up the space in the bathroom for a bit.

"So...that's how you know someone really wants to stay away from you. It's over. I can...move on now. Maybe date a childhood friend and let him kiss me more often. Heck, maybe I'll marry him." I semi-joke.

She rolls her eyes and rolls the cord around the blow dryer. "Stop."

"I just have this feeling. Something awful. Like today will be the day I'll be crushed permanently." I tell her this because every day has been excruciatingly unpredictable, but today especially has been all wrong from the moment I woke up.

She hooks an arm through mine and we walk out as she tells me about her delicious John, They've decided to move in together. I'm so happy for her. She's been alone a long time. She sits with me at my desk and gushes over his looks and thoughtfulness until lunch rolls by. We get nothing done and I could care less.

Emmett walks in late and we're forced to pretend to work. She goes to her desk but the conversation continues through long emails between work reports. I giggle loudly when she's vulgar enough to tell me details of _The Johnafied Sex._ Her words, not mine. He walks by from the other department and I grow red when he glances at both of us. He knows what's up. Kate's chair is dipped back with force making her yelp as he passes by. She gives it a second and takes off behind him, letting the copy room door softly close behind her.

"Dirty ho." I quietly laugh to myself. I plug my headphones in and tune into NPR to take up room in my scattered mind. Reports are due tomorrow or Emmett will find a way to fire me, too. Problem is, that crack of paint on the wall calls my name and a few hours later I'm staring at it again. _What ifs_ come racing in.

Papers rustle close by, but not on my desk. A swift breeze flutters over my fingers where there's movement. I blink. Dried up eyes make the journey back to consciousness. 5:20 on the clock. I look up. Whatever you can't find comes right back when you give up searching.

He doesn't look at me as he casually piles papers together he's left behind. His satchel in a drawer is pulled out. He lays it on the desk and papers go flying. He opens it up and stuffs folders in a little bit too roughly.

My earphones fall out as I shift in my desk chair. I stare at Masen quietly cleaning up his desk beside me. I look to my left and there's no one around. Kate left her lamp on at her desk but the copy room is vacant and dark. I look to my right and Emmett's office is lit but empty. I look at him and he's here, flesh and blood.

This must be a mirage. Shocked, I watch him wordlessly.

His scent wafts over as he pulls off his jacket and dumps it on his chair not a foot from me. His white t-shirt wrinkled and rolled at the sleeves a little. His hair folds over his forehead that's flushed and glistening with perspiration. He bends here and there to get things under his desk.

Years of piles of shit. His books from school. His nice shoes he'd only wear to meetings. The ones he thought would transform his outfit into business casual, but failed. Nowhere near professional. He just looked adorable or fucking gorgeous. His collection of thin tip pens, one always in his pocket. I'd know, I'd reach for it when I was out of writing utensils. His notepads and notebooks with god knows what he's written in them. Some things he takes with him in a duffle bag he brought and laid out on his chair.

The tons and tons of paper he doesn't need anymore he dumps into the recycling bin. He's quick and diligent. Never a glance my way. He keeps his head down and his hands moving, rushing, trying to get it done when no one is here to watch.

But I am. I'm watching. I watch him until my eyes blur with tears. I don't make a sound.

I wait. For him to react? Maybe. I've been running after him and now that he's here I don't know what to say. But I'm invisible. He ignores me and that tears my heart right out of my chest.

I swivel my chair towards my laptop. I lean on a trembling hand and stare at the screen, discreetly wiping away strays that escape my lids. Torture is this. My heart ready to burst and it's like I'm not here.

He pulls out his laptop he's had for a few years, stickers of all sorts of things he loves decorating the back. He places it on the empty desk. He doesn't need it anymore. He was generous to have brought it back, that last gesture of respect for Emmett. All the random markers, highlighters, and pens he doesn't need he piles up and stuffs them in an empty mason jar on my desk. He actually reaches over. The jar he'd make fun of me with every morning. I don't turn my head but my gaze follows his hands. Hands that have held mine with such care. They're strangers now.

He pushes on the pile in the duffle bag and tries to zip it up. The mound is too large. He needs an extra hand. Mine fidget at my chest. I watch him struggle time and time again. Why would I help him? I don't want him to go.

 _What you love you let go._

Stupid words, but it's pathetic watching him struggle. All I can do is sigh and lean in. I pull on one end and bring the two separate parts together. It zips right up. Both of us made something work. He hates it, especially when our hands collided. Just that feeling shoots bolts through my bones. I guess it does the same for him because he wouldn't pick up the heavy duffle bag and launch it across the room if it hadn't. His anger makes him heave and grow red. I snatch my hands back quickly.

He stands there, hands on hips, trying to calm down. The yearn to touch him is ten fold now. But I sit back and attempt it. I speak.

"When are you leaving?"

He pushes an incredulous chuckle through his nose. He bites on his lip a bit. "So eager to know, huh?"

"Well yes, I would've followed you across the world and back but...you didn't invite me," I say right back. No tremor in my voice. He doesn't respond. I keep talking. "So...imagine my surprise. I'm just curious to know the moment you decided you didn't want me. It's been, what? A week? not even." I nod. "That was quick. Has to be a record."

I bite on my tongue because he looks like he might burst. He moves to organize the last few things in his way.

"Tell me one thing, though, did you lose your phone, your email _and_ your computer all at the same time? Because I used every means to contact you short of a fucking telegram."

"They were fine, actually," he responds smartly.

"Then what the fuck was it?!" I yell. He looks up at me, finally looks into my eyes. And I could just about kill him instead of wanting to react to the stupid feeling of running to him.

"You left me here alone to deal with this shit! I fucking begged Emmett, fuck, I even begged Rose not to fire you. To fucking go back and save your stupid ass from being included in the...bullshit. But you! You didn't even give a shit what I was going through. You promised!"

I stop short of a cry. I can't breathe. He stares but nothing comes out of him. I lift a palm his way. I take a moment and I can't look at him.

"You know what?" I clear my throat, wipe my cheeks dry. "Go ahead. Leave." I shake my head. "If that's what you want, Why would I even fight?" I turn to my laptop and stare at the bright light in a room that has grown dark. It's just him and I.

I swallow hard and let the dialogue continue. "I'm tired of...this. Whatever this is." I laugh. "What the fuck is this? It never was anything, was it? God, I'm so stupid. Why did I allow myself to always fall for you? Every _single_ time." I nod to myself like an insane person. Press a few fingers to my lips or I'll wrap them around his neck.

"You know what kills me the most?" I ask no one. I talk to a wall. I think I always have. But I can't stop. "She was so spot on. I guess Rose would know if you're worth the heartache, right? And I fought her so much, yelling it in her face that you were. Even after every single time you walked away after walking all over me, I was so sure, so quick to run right after. Crazy huh? Something _must_ be wrong with me."

I sigh. I let the silence settle in, accepting it, know it's all he'll give me. I dare to say it and finish this. "Goodbye, Edward Masen. It was _awesome_ meeting you."

He finally moves from his statue-like stance and snatches his jacket off the chair. He pulls it on. I don't watch, I can't, but I feel his every move. He pushes the chair in place. Everything neat and bare, as if he was never here.

Rustling comes from his pocket. Keys jingle. They land on my desk by my hand. I glance over. "I brought your car from Pete's. It's up front." That's all he says to me before he leaves.

I chuckle—no humor in that, not a spec. He does these things and swears he doesn't care. I grip them in my hands until the keys dig into my skin. This desperation settles in. He's leaving. I won't see him again. _I can't leave things like this. I have to tell him._

I snatch my purse and leave everything behind. This is stupid me doing it again—running.

The evening sunset is dim, blue, casting shadows on everything. I look left, then right. If he doesn't have a car he must be taking the subway. So, I run that way.

I take the steps down the tunnel with the red paint and bricks. The Red Line is light with passengers heading home after a long day's work and he's there among them. The duffle bag is on the floor by his feet where he sits on a bench waiting for the train. His hands are buried in his hair, leaning elbows on knees. I walk right up to him.

"You _have_ to know." He looks up. He sees me and his eyes close with a sigh. He stands and lifts the bag to the bench.

"Bella, go home."

I step right up to him until he has no choice but to look at me. "I am home." I breathe. His eyes close. His hands ball up at his sides. "You have to know it wasn't me who kissed him, right? I don't know why he did it. He came back and I picked him up from the airport because I missed my _friend_. If I'd known you were back, I would've been there for you. In a heartbeat. Angry and all. You know that, right?"

He looks up at the train slowly crawling in behind me. He nods. "I know. You never were good at hiding your discomfort," he says, as he shuffles his feet. I reach for him and dare to run a hand inside his jacket. Warmth there through his shirt. I ball up a fist full and don't let go.

"Then say it. Ask me. I'll go right now. I'll follow."

He shakes his head infinitesimally. His lids lazily blink over darkened eyes. "I…ah...I'm sorry. It was a mistake...I shouldn't have…it wasn't right of me." His hand cups mine, not to hold on tight, but to pull us apart.

The train stops and the doors open. He lets go and steps in through the double doors. He turns to me. "I have to go, alright? Take care of yourself. Go do...great things at work. You always were the best." He says with a faint smirk, glancing under his lashes.

"Please," I tell him. People look. They've all stepped in and found a seat behind him. He lingers at the doors about to close between us.

He glances around him, holds onto a steel pole. Anchored, white knuckles. He's not letting go. "Bella, just go."

"I love you...more than anyone." I blurt. It's out and tangible now. I've said it. It's what I've always wanted to say but never imagined it in these circumstances. He has to look at me now, he can't ignore that, but when he does look at me his jaw clamps up. He grazes his teeth over lips to hide a chuckle, but he fails. He sniffs, runs a hand over his mouth to his chin.

"More than your own mother?" he asks. He gives me this look, a grin forming over his lips. The kind that's condescending and pierces right through. His smart words. Always using them to tease me, avert the real answer. It's so like him.

The doors close and the train moves. It speeds off. He watches me the entire way through the windows until the tunnel swallows him up.

It takes a moment. The red lights behind the train fade slowly like my senses. I eventually move. I take a step back behind the yellow line, I breathe in the smell of subway and feel my hair billowing in the train's wake. Then shame, because how silly of me to even think? But I guess it fits. This has always been an ominous, disjointed relationship, yet I was expecting a different result.

Just like that, I'm small, an adolescent. I'm back to being Rose's baby sister to him. I shred inside.

...


	12. Chapter 12 - Before

**A/N:** Thank you for your reactions from last chapter. I was expecting you to be just as heartbroken as I was. Yes, shitty of him, wasn't it? I thought the same when my sister told me about a love story that ended with those words exactly. She was on the platform, him by the doors waiting for them to close, and he said what he said after she said '...more than anyone'. Doors closed. She didn't see him again for a year after that. They were my sister's co-workers when they were all Union Organizers. I lived through her vigorously then because she pretty much had the best experiences. I was jealous. I met the real couple, not together, but the Middle East dinner cute-meet really did happen, only it was me and the RL jerk with the camera. Charming jerk, though. He did watch me during the concert set and he did say my reactions were more entertaining to watch. The kiss was for you guys, it didn't happen for real, but I do remember him being very interesting and he did give you all of his attention, this smirk on his lips the entire time. I was 'baby sister'. I don't think my sister would have minded if something happened between him and I, but I think she kind of would have. She is Rose in this story but not as invested, or at all. But she did mention how awful he was to "Bella", clear warning he wasn't a nice person.

I wrote the story based on this true moment because, man, it was heartbreaking. My mind ran circles because it screamed 'Fic'. It had to be told. The rest I added as my personal encounters with the RL guy or other awkward moments in my life. I really did find the oddest shades of lipsticks while I cleaned and tried them on, then opened the door in PJs to my brother's gorgeous friends in high school. The dumpster scene was something they really did have to do. hah. I remember the stories.

But what you read, what killed you and angered you really did happen to a girl. Smart girl who stupidly fell for the wrong guy and regretted it. He was difficult and I don't know why he treated her badly (not referring to my storyline, but theirs. My sister only told me so much). I always thought it was because he was in love with MY sister. Since I think the dumpster scene really did happen between them, fluffed by me, though, so no violence, just a cop coming by. My sister was always dating someone else. She married and he didn't go to her wedding. But when I did meet him in the past, he always had this look in his eye for my sister. I admitted it to her once and she scoffed. I don't think she was as into that idea. Obv, she married someone else.

As for the RL couple, did they have an HEA? Well, I went to their wedding. Problem is, eventually the HEA turned sour and they divorced. But this is the story of a couple who somehow makes it work.

Enjoy the rest of the fic.

* * *

 **Chapter 12 - Before**

 _2001 Masen  
_

Smoke. A pale ghost floating around us. I exhale a puff. It drifts over her face. An explosion of soft vapors that does no harm but caresses her flush cheeks. She stays put. Her eyes close and she's always been pretty. Her assertiveness and intellect make her beautiful. She smiles and lets me be a rude fuck. But her fingers are pinching a cigarette, too, and her grin says it's hilarious.

She'll never admit to it but the way she looks at me sometimes it's obvious. She thinks I'm shit and maybe she's right. But I'm a shit she wouldn't mind letting in. She's lonely. She's single. No man to fill her agenda or worthy enough. She tells me all about it. I tell her not to be picky. Uptight doesn't look good on a woman.

"I'm not, I'm not!" She fights. But it's all over the way she carries herself. Her heels, pencil skirts, blouses and muted colored lipstick. Her ambition drives her. Her family keeps those shoulders heavy. She can't afford to be free spirited, spontaneous.

"What about Sean?" I ask. "Where did that poor fucker go?" She covers her face. Shame, drunken shame.

"My dog is smarter. He fuckin'...thinks Columbus sailed Titanic for crying out loud!" She flails her arms. I howl a laugh. The bar is full of mingling chaos. No one looks. I add to the cacophony. I bend at the waist and give it a good wheeze.

"I'm not kidding!" she says. "Trivia night at Kendall and the guy has a straight face. About embarrassed everyone at the table when he shouts it. I walked. I ran the fuck out!"

I laugh harder.

Yeah, we could be perfect together. All her failed dates. Mine don't even go as far as one night. We fit. But the fit is a puzzle with an extra piece that mistakenly snuck in.

I get her. She gets me. Our conversations one and on the same page. It's always been easy to talk to her. Get advice. Vent. But that's just it. A mentor. That brain of hers, available to guide and advise. God knows I need it.

We sober and she stares at me and I know it's that moment in the night when it's a bit heavy. Friends. Always have been. More than that and her circle and my peg won't align.

She reaches up and rubs the prickles on my head. She shakes hers. "Why?" She asks. I shrug.

"It was getting in my face too much. Haircuts are expensive," I explain about my buzz cut. I found the clippers in Emmett's apartment. She's still picking on sharp, short strands of hair off my ears and neck.

"Fucking amateur," she mumbles. I bite her thumb that's too close. She slaps my arm hard.

"Emmett says hi, by the way. And that he'd like to eat you if you're not busy Saturday night." I flinch away when she tries to hit me again. That fucker has always been obsessed and hasn't man up. Too bad she can't stand the sight of him. Some shit going down between the two in college. I don't know.

I look behind her. At the door is _her_. I take the last of the beer and place it on the bar. "Be right back."

She looks. Her eyes roll. Her grin deepens. "Jesus, Masen. Carmen Jimenez? The lead organizer for her coworkers? You surprise me every day."

"What? I did her favors. She wanted to start a union at her job, I got her started. In return she let me crash at her place...practically kneeled the entire night thanking me." I wink and stand to get ready to charm. She rolls her eyes with a disgusted groan.

"She's a customer, not an advantage, dirty bastard." Her words trail as I walk away.

"Hey," she calls. I turn back. I do that nose scrunch like _what?_ "Middle East at Central right? My sister Bella is joining." She waits.

I point walking backward. "Wouldn't miss it." Just then, she turns at a call over her shoulder from afar. Sean pushes his way through the crowd. I guffaw so hard and rush off even when her eyes grow wide.

...

 _2002_

I ring the doorbell. Maybe I'll ring it again. I ring a couple times more. This yellowed pearl button sinks in softly but hard to the touch. She answers the door. She's standing there. Lips red like blood. I remember instantly. The feeling.

She stares and damn, I cower. Under those eyes. Hair slicked back. Brown eyes that go deeper than an abyss. Guarded arms crossed over a robe. She hates my guts. How long has it been? I think. By the looks of her long enough.

Why did I do it, kiss her? I don't know. But my hands find my pockets so quick, balled up fists, because I swear I'll touch her if I don't.

"Baby sister," I say because I don't know what else. She says nothing. Definitely hates my guts.

It's so quiet I can hear the breeze, wings flapping from a bird in flight, a fucking colony of ants crawling by. Whatever. Everything but her words.

I feel like telling her that I've stared into her eyes on glossy prints I developed in a red lit room for months now. My lips part to speak up while I still have the nerve. Maybe more to fill the painful awkwardness right now, but Rose appears and I breathe a little.

I'm not usually aware of a person's glaring fixation towards me, listening to everything I say, so attentively. But I am now. She goes inside but I know she's there on the other side of the threshold. That second door inside didn't open and close. She makes me...what? Nervous? Yes.

When she comes back I'm offering her a job. Why? I don't know. But my fingers shake over the stiff buttons on my flip phone. I manage to add her number. I file it under "Baby". I look up at her and this hurricane in me. Like I have something. Something to conquer or figure out. I can't hold back a grin.

I lift the desk off the porch Rose donated with one heave because I have to get out of here. I pushed her sister's buttons that night at the concert, soft yet hard to the touch, and I know she'll make me pay.

...

* * *

 **A/N:** For the next couple of chaps these will be bite-sized moments in his POVs until the present day back to her. _  
_


	13. Chapter 13 - During, Part 1

**A/N: Sorry this took long. I had to sit with it for a while since I had to make changes. All because you guys challenge me to make it better and make sure I'm making sense of it. The MasenPOV bite-size memories continue...**

 **Listening to Rob softly riff "Never Think" and I didn't realize how accurate the words are to this fic. Guh. Kill me. And his voice. Lord. Slay.**

 **Go read.**

* * *

 _Masen POV_

 _2004_

I watch from where I sit and when he takes a step, I go. I'm there before he is.

She's talking to Kate when I bump the back of her knee with my kneecap. She staggers and lands against my chest.

"What the heck?" she exclaims. I curl my arm around her real quick.

"You've wanted me to come over all night, admit it," I tell her ear. She slaps me on my forearm. Her fingers linger there, curling up. I kid but it's mostly true. Those delicate fingers of hers could be tracing a love letter over my skin for all I know. Her cheeks going that hint of red. My nose finds her hair before she notices.

I lift the camera, peek through the lens, and frame Kate's face. She covers an eye with her middle finger, her hand covering half her face. "Gorgeous," I tell her.

"Thanks. I grew the finger myself. Two actually. Wanna see the other?" She flips me off with both.

"Such a lady. Such a gem."

Bella laughs and I feel it vibrating against my chest. I step away.

Those fingers trail down my arm as I let go, then she snatches them back. Her smile dims. She steps away.

 _Rose_... _Rose's baby sister._ I chant and chant. She would have my dick cut and served to dogs. It's been years now, still, I can't do it. Relent. Let those eyes of hers, wanting eyes, swallow me right up.

I look over at him. He's new. Ivy League. Ironed shirts. Polished shoes. Dark jeans. Barbie's Ken wanted to find himself and Emmett gave him this job. Women are all over him like a discounted mani-pedi. I glare until he looks away. The thing about him is I know him. From somewhere. Can't place him. But I already know it's not right. In my gut.

She's quiet. I turn to her and she's staring out the rooftops over the purple lit city. Her arms folded over herself. I wonder if she wants the mani-pedi. If she thinks about it ever. But I have no right to know. None.

I curl my arm around her shoulders defiantly because there's the asshole side of me that wants to know. I wait. It just takes a second. It never fails. She pushes, she pulls. Indifferent as always. But the second she relents I pull her into me. I smell her hair of something sweet and lavender. I aim. I frame. I look into the lens.

 _Click._

Two days later she's in the kitchen. I'm popping out Rose's picture out of a frame from her living room. I slide ours in. It's picture perfect on her nightstand where I sneak in. I smirk knowing she'll find it tonight.

Fuck Ryan, she'll think of me before bed every night.

...

 _2006_

"Baby, baby, sweet baby. Open up." I tap a few knuckles against her door. I hear the latch. "Yesss, that's it." I fall right into her the moment the door opens.

"Um, hi." She staggers back. I snort loud. I catch my footing and pretend like I was really just going for a hug.

"Hello, baby," I whisper in her ear.

She cringes. "You're yelling in my ear."

She pushes me off her, but it's more like a struggled shove. Our fronts are pressed like a sticky PB and J—only our top halves unstick, enough for her to look up at me.

"You drunken sloth," she accuses. I straighten real quick and scoff.

"Naw. You haven't seen drunk. This is 'A-OK'. But I do have very important questions. They're serious," I say, leaning on the door behind me. I get a good look at her. Hair down. Bare legs and little toes. A tank under that sweater...the spaghetti strap kind, not the one that could run me over.

 _Girl, run me over._

"You came all this way to ask me questions."

"It's a life or death situation."

"Ah, ok then. Wouldn't want it to kill you." She rolls her wrist like _get on with it_. So I do. I lift an index.

"Do you have some peanut butter?" I ask. She stares. Her lips move. I cup a palm by my ear and lean in.

"I said, yes," she seethes through her teeth.

"Now, do you have…" I pause for effect, "some strawberry jam?"

She sighs. I give her a look. She nods.

I continue with a dab on my lips. "And lastly, but definitely not least, do you happen to have bread? Preferably wheat with crusts cut off."

"Jesus, yes!"

"Perfect. Now walk with me to the kitchen. I have further instructions for you." She shakes off my arm from around her shoulders and grabs the loaf off the counter top. I watch, rapt. She's gonna do it. I get so happy.

She lays two slices on the butcher block and squishes them thin to mere death, letting out all the air from every nook and cranny. She leaves finger dents on the soft middle. She slams the jars close by. My favorite part is when se squeezes her ass by to grab a butter knife. Of course, there's room behind me to lean away, but I do no such thing. Her slathers of sweet and salty over the pita thin slices are erotic. She scrapes the hugging sticky slabs off the block and turns the sloppy sandwich towards me.

"Anything else?" Her brows raised.

"Actually, I specifically mentioned no crust, so..." I point out.

"Ah." She nods and begins to make her way around the edges with her teeth as she bites them off. She offers it when she's done.

"Delicious." I fold it in two because, seriously, it's Paris Hilton thin. I enjoy. One lick, two. My fingers are free from salty sweet. Her eyes follow.

"Milk?" I mutter, steeping my hands under my chin. She blinks. Her gaze moves from my mouth to my eyes. She looks away. She slams the carton on the table after fetching it with a tinge of red on her cheeks.

"Don't you dare drink straight out of it." She walks off. So, I open the pointy spout and drink straight out of it. I follow her after slapping another sandwich together. This one is fluffy but tastes less sweet without the sway of her hands.

She's on her laptop, cozy on her couch. Afghan spread over her lap. The TV murmurs softly. I shove my near 6-foot self beside her, wedged by the armrest. I sigh.

"So, what's the deal tonight? What are we watching? Hm, infomercials. My fav." I talk to myself. She taps on the keyboard, a bit too aggressive. Is she angry?

"What's up your bush, sour puss."

She sighs. Scratches her neck. Uneasy. The gesture just points the way down her tank. I look. Soft curves. Smooth. Lace peeking through. I start when she speaks, almost caught red handed.

"This case with Jimenez. She's skittish. Doesn't want to reply to any of my calls, emails. I think she's going to bail or something went wrong. What if her boss found out she's involving everyone for Union and he fired her? What if a co-worker told on her? If I don't get this account right, Emmett won't promote me."

I sigh. "First of all, I'm too drunk for this."

"So, you're drunk now?"

"Secondly," I interrupt. "You're fuck awesome at your job. Better than any of these idiots at work you call your little friends." I cough and muffle, " _Jane."_ She rolls her eyes.

"Thirdly, you got that promotion bagged. Fourthly…uh, fourthly, did you say, Jimenez?"

She nods. Well fuck. _Carmen Jimenez._ My stomach churns with the name alone. My head swims. Can't have a psycho bitch near Bella.

"Why?" She asks. I shake my head and shrug together like I'm trying to reassure it's no big deal with the two. But it is. Especially when I saw her rip some other chicks hair off at a bar because she was talking to me. Getting two women to stop fighting is terrifying. I'll never try again. I won't be thrown to the floor to be tangled up around them while they nail scratched the skin off me and each other. I _will_ walk away.

"I'll uh, talk to her. She was at another job and was my case. Guess she moved jobs and enlisted what she learned there. She's cool." She's bipolar is what.

I grab a pillow and stuff it under my head where I lean to stare at her, worried brows and all.

"C'mere," I tell her. I wait. She does. She always does. She scoots over and presses her side to mine. Her head on my bent arm. I dab a finger at her nose. She blinks, let's her lids close for a moment.

"It's today, isn't it? Her anniversary. It's why you're like this," she says. Her eyes still shut. I swallow thickly. How does she always know? Knows me best. More than anyone.

I see her lids move, but before she looks into my eyes I shut mine. It only takes a few heartbeats before I feel her fingertips on me. A ghost of a touch over my jaw then nose. She follows the shape of my brows.

"Aww, Masen. I'm sorry." A whisper. She stays close for a while. Then, I remember. I chuckle.

"Crazy the things I remember before she died. Makes me so angry."

Bella hums, waiting. She gets it. How many times have we sat here sharing memories of her old man and some about mom. She always shared more. She waits patiently now. Well, today mom died years ago.

"' _Edward, when will I meet my grandbabies?'_ she'd ask. God, she'd drive me insane," I tell Bella. I see her smiling already.

"She'd sell me to any woman crossing her path. Tell them about her handsome son and how single he was. "' _He's a bit scatterbrained, but he's handsome. Can't fix his car but he can fix a light bulb, jam it right up there.'"_

Bella cackles. I jab a finger into her middle.

"I love her," she says. "Sad I couldn't meet her." I nod. I know. She would've loved her, too.

"You know you'd be interested." I accuse.

"I would. The skill of jamming light bulbs right up there is just too tempting. I'll take him, Mrs. Masen!" she jokingly exclaims.

The TV is the only thing filling the silence all of a sudden. I don't say a word, letting the awkwardness settle in. She can't take it. Her cheeks grow red. She looks away. I know what she'll do. Before she back paddles I lift a finger and trail it down her neck. She's frozen alongside her words at her throat. I get to the sweatshirt where it parts and fuck if I could stop I would. Lace is soft at my fingertips, visible through the slit of my droopy lids.

"Bella…" I slur. No answer from her. She barely makes a sound. I forget who I am, let alone what I'm doing. But that soft curve, so round, it beckons. "You're gonna make men wild. You're beautiful." I tell her.

The peak under my thumb so firm. I trail it in circles. Her breathing is off, mine not any better. Every swirl I feel it in my weakened legs. Pins and needles up and out and through my skin.

I blink. I pull my hand away, burned. No right. I've got no right.

She looks at me. _Rose. Rose's baby sister…and her big doe eyes._

I roll off that couch to the floor, grab one of the twenty pillows she has there and lie face down on it. The room spins. "Just leave me here, cool?" I plead. _Don't come any closer._

She locks herself in her room. Not a word. I wake up the next morning and I feel like shit in two different ways: The alcohol and my wandering hands. But mostly how much I wanted it.

So, I get her a coffee and leave. I let Jess kiss me on the sidewalk and I let Bella witness the entire thing. I feel better. This is how it should be, her far away and me over here, nowhere near her soft regions. She dates. I date. We forget about the entire thing months later.

There's just one problem; I remember Ryan. I've placed him in a scenario a long time ago.

Carmen was there one night at the bar. He came barging through. Her, by the door where she found him. Me, waiting for her to come back from the restroom to our bar stools. I didn't think anything of it when I looked up and they were talking. The girl to my right caught my interest anyway—smart, cute and three drinks in.

Carmen had been getting intense. I was going to cut things off with her that night. I never did get the chance. She left me with the bill and without a warning. But I do remember this look in Ryan's eyes when he glared at me from across the room as he escorted her out. I laughed. And then I laughed some more because if only he knew. I'd have gift wrapped that shit and spiked it his way. Sayonara. See you never.

Then, when I did remember him, when I placed him, it was here, at Bella's heels. I've become an animal. A raging lunatic in thoughts that don't amount to actions. At least not with my fists or breaking every finger he lays on her. If this is a game, he'll be the one who's over.

What I can do, I do shamelessly. I try things I know I can get from Bella. Attention. Those doe eyes on me. Hopeful diversion from him.

I found myself on her couch again. That night, that one night I ignored the conscience's taunts that ran through my mind to keep me from doing things I shouldn't. I kissed her. I leaned in and ruined everything.

She tasted just like I remembered. It took all of me not to take her.

...


	14. Chapter 14 - During, Part 2

**A/N: Snow day, so more. And answers. All the moments on his end we didn't see leading up to his leave.  
**

 **Chapter 14 - During, Part 2**

 **...**

2007

"What did you do?" Rose asks me. Her tone like, 'not again'. I pull my hair hard through my fingers. I really hope no one is listening.

It's like old times. The crew and Rose are here. Spare of the moment before I head to New York in a few hours. Kevin and Angela decided to get together for dinner, Kevin called me, someone called...Rose. The dread. The moment she walked through the door my stomach dropped. Not the person I wanted to see. Not with what I did to Bella or the other shit that's going down. Would Bella have told her? Kiss and tell? I made out with her sister at her apartment a while back. I gauge her reaction, but she doesn't give me red eyes or crawls over the table to rip me to pieces.

The problem is Rose said one word to me. "Hi." That was it. I poured my troubles all over this table. Like her pores seeped out Pentothal and just one whiff, all the truth poured out of me.

She asks again. "What did you do?"

"Nothing," I respond defensively. "She's crazy." I look around to make sure she doesn't pop up behind a table and start yelling 'child support' or 'deadbeat dad' and take all my money, the little I have.

She scrunches her nose, but I barely hear her when she asks who. I about have a heart attack when she does pop up. But not from behind a table. Carmen Jimenez walks casually through the door. She's holding her swollen belly. That manicured hand with a ring on each finger rubs circles around the growing bump.

I turn in my seat. I face the wall. I try to stand and then think better of it. I go to one knee and maybe I should crawl out the back of the restaurant.

"Jesus!" I grunt.

Rose looks around frantically. "What? Who? Where?"

"It's like I have a GPS up my ass and she downloaded the app. My ass app! She knows where I am constantly!" I whisper from below, my jaw by Rose's leg.

She looks up. "Oh my god. Her? Still?" It takes a moment. I wait for it. She gasps. She turns to me and grips my collar. "No! Are you serious? Masen, are you fucking serious?"

My eyes are shut tight. I know now how Bella felt when she scrambled around another restaurant trying to get away from Ryan and me once. I look for the back exit.

"This is serious! Really, really serious!" Rose seethes, enunciating every word with a push at my collar. The restaurant is loud and everyone on our table is also. I thank the heavens for the distractions.

Rose is strong. I don't know how but she pulls me towards the back and into a bathroom. I look around. It's the ladies room. "What the fuck, Rose?"

"Is it yours?" she practically yells.

"No," I seethe, but my shoulders drop and she sees right through me. She gives me a look. "I haven't messed with her for a long time now. She's crazy!"

"A long time? Like, what, four to six months ago?" I stare at her. "What is she saying?" she asks. I sigh and rub my face.

"She's with Ryan."

"Ryan," she says thoughtfully.

"This douchebag at work who's behind Bella."

She snaps out of her revery. "He's, what?"

I want to punch myself for bringing that up. She would kill me if she knew even half of _that_ mess. "Uh...just, nevermind that. Carmen and Ryan are a thing. Then he was hired and I guess he remembered me from a bar one night...or four to six months ago." I roll my eyes at her. "Who the fuck knows their deal. Point is, she's saying it's mine but I know, Rose, I know in my gut it's not. I wrapped that shit up every time."

"But did you throw it out in her bathroom trash after you were done, left her house feeling naively satisfied?"

I cut my eyes to hers. "What does that mean?"

"Crazy women would do anything, Masen. They would even pick the trash harboring free samples, convenient insemination right at home." She grins.

I grab my hair and pull. "You women would do that shit?!"

"Not me, but bitches would! Wake up, Romeo."

I feel faint. I bang a fist on the sink picturing a turkey baster and Carmen's legs spread and pointing at the ceiling. I take gulps of air and squeeze my eyes shut.

"Let's back it up. Why is this guy behind Bella?" She insists. She barges into my anxiety attack. I groan. "I told you to watch her for me. You guys, in that place, you're all disgusting. I know your kind." She pokes my back and it hurts. I flinch. Her eyes narrow at mine where they meet through the mirror.

I stop her there. "Hey, he isn't, alright?" I almost shout. "Under control. Trust me."

I've almost beat him onto a hospital bed twice, at Bella's apartment, then at the bar a few nights back. I _have_ it under control. But fuck if I'll ever tell her that...or that it's probably a game, to fuck with me, to tear my ass apart, because he knows, he sees. My wandering eyes that stick and freeze on that one girl he's after—this scary woman's baby sister. I cringe.

She backs away, thank god. "I heard." She nods. "Bar fight, huh?" she says. My bones freeze up. _Bella..._

"You weren't planning to tell me, were you?" She crosses her arms over her chest. "I heard it from this childhood friend. I wouldn't have found out otherwise. What kind of show are you guys running in this Local?"

I look away. "No show. I didn't feel the need to tell you because It wasn't an issue and you're not a fucking guardian." I roll my eyes.

"So, what do you think he's trying to do? You think it's a game? If it is and Bella is in between, I swear to God…" Man, she's quick.

"Jesus, no. It's about me." I angrily turn to her. "And if it was about her, she's a grown woman, Rose, she can take a care of herself. Her right hooks are sharp enough," I admit. I witnessed that just this morning, slicing right through the fucker's face. Damn.

Rose opens her mouth to ask or protest. "Enough," I spit. "Nothing is happening." I square my shoulders and glare at her. She looks at me up and down before she settles sheepishly.

"Poor kid if it's yours." She walks to the door. My mouth falls open. She turns. "I'm kidding. You'd...probably be awesome at it like...everything else." She rolls her eyes and grins a little. "Poor choice of a mother, though." The door closes behind her.

I let out a tense, nervous breath and follow her out.

The walkway to the tables is dark but enough light pours in from the main floor to see the silhouetted bump. Carmen is standing there waiting her turn to pass. She stares. She looks at Rose, then back at me. Those Spanish eyes narrowing just for me. And I'm sure those curse words she uses when she's yelling are flying through her mind already. My skin crawls from head to toes. Rose pretends not to notice and walks by. She turns and points a finger at me.

"Fix it. Be a man," she mouths and waves a hand at me behind Carmen's back. I just want to scream, bawl or hit a few walls, but all I do is just that—be a man, a lost and broken one.

...


	15. Chapter 15 - During, Part 3

**Chapter 15 - During, Part 3**

I've hit the red button five times now. The beat of the music in a loop in my brain. I won't pick it up. I won't.

Emmett uses caps letters when he messages me this time. "AS YOUR SUPERIOR, I DEMAND YOU PICK UP THE CALL, ASSHOLE."

I scoff. A superior who name calls. Perfect. But honestly, I'm scared shitless. I'm being a coward now. No way in hell is this call going to be a good one.

The tune picks up again and the video call pops up. I sigh. I take my time before I click the green link.

Emmett appears full-screen red faced. Pissed.

"Sorry, I was...taking a shit." I lie.

"Fuck you, Masen. This is serious and if I could, I'd be in your face right now."

I make the screen smaller and mumble, "You kind of are and not a pretty one either. What up?" I finish more loudly.

"So, I hear that you, a supervisor, is developing a personal relationship with a coworker."

I shrug. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Well, Rose is here and begs to differ."

My stomach drops to my balls.

He moves the laptop so it frames her in the picture. I keep my expression straight but hers is anything but happy.

"Listen, you piece of shit. You know I just caught you red handed and you're scared. As you should be. I was there on the sidewalk watching you two. You'd have the audacity to get near her after everything..."

Emmett lifts a hand towards her. She shuts her trap and crosses her arms. "I don't want any trouble, Masen. I apologize for bringing Rose into this call. It isn't professional." She gives him a look.

He ignores her. "She was just telling me a few things, I was piecing them together and trying to make sense of them. Things happening at work between co-workers. Nothing is fitting the puzzle. I need you, to be honest with me."

I keep quiet. I stare at the screen and all I can think of is Bella. Her skin. Her hair fanning her pillow as she sleeps. The sounds she made when I'd bury myself inside her time and again. I've lost count. The things we did. Things I've wanted to do for years. Fuck only friends. We were tied together from the moment we met. Me, I was the one holding her back, arm's length. But thoughts and wants are stronger than a promise to an old friend. Rose, there, on my screen. Not a friend anymore. Maybe never was. Maybe all she was, was a purpose to make that introduction and off we'd go.

I look at Rose and I feel like yelling, but I don't. Memories come and distract. They're like a balm, but like waves, crashing my senses, overflowing my mind, calming me all the same. Not letting me function. I'm headlong, reckless haste into lingering thoughts of her. I can't get shit done.

It's Sunday. Six hours ago my mouth was all over that olive skin after framing Bella's euphoric face through a lens.

I take a deep breath and blink the images and feelings away. Anger is left.

"You're right. It's unprofessional. I don't want her here," I say, arms crossed over my chest.

Emmett goes sheepish. He knew better, but that woman beside him makes him make rash decisions. He points at the screen. "Don't hang up."

He pushes them out of frame but I can still hear them.

"I'm not leaving," she argues. His hush tones are stern. The lens quivers as the table is shaken with a bang. I'm guessing it's the chair. There's shuffling.

"He's been messing with a worker, did you know that? The moron got her pregnant. He doesn't even know it's his kid. And now it's casual PDA on a sidewalk with _my_ sister? I have a right to be pissed," she says angrily.

I squeeze the bridge of my nose with a few fingers as my heart sinks. She went there. She said it.

A noise pulls through the speakers. I look up to watch the screen move. She appears. "I dare you to lie about that!" she yells. "I know you, you take and you do what you will and drop it in a beat of a heart. That shit will not happen with Bella, you hear me?"

"Oh, I hear you, Rose, but it just sounds like bullshit from here. You intervene everyone's lives, that's what you do, but sister or not, you have no right. I've always watched out for her, per your badgering. I did for years and still am. I've cared for her during all of it, always have, and I don't intend to stop. I also don't have to fucking explain myself to you," I say, speaking over her. Her voice escalates.

"Not to me, no, but to her, to yourself and even your own mother. What would she say, huh? Edward Masen, her loving son, fucking up everyone's life along with his," she seethes.

Blood drains from my face. My lips seal shut. I can't speak.

"Fix your life!" she says, pointing. Emmett pulls her hand down but she continues to spew. "You have enough shit going on. Don't involve her or I swear…" He pulls her away. He yells for her to stop but her voice still booms through the speakers. "I'll do everything to keep you away from her If it's the last thing I do!" I hear her say.

The door slams shut behind them. I'm left in an empty room. The feed silent but still connected.

This is it. It's over. Forget Bella and forget the best subject to my project, film after film. I'm numb. Just as I have been with the fact that I'll probably be a father in a few months. Her constant calls. Her nagging needs. I'm nothing but bones now.

Rose is right. I'm shit and everyone would agree.

Emmett walks into the room and lands in a chair from his kitchen table with a huff. He rubs his face. He's looking older than his years. He takes a sip of his beloved whiskey and then takes another before he looks into the screen.

"Spill it. All of it. Leave nothing out," he demands.

Reluctantly, I do. Bella. Jane. Ben. The Rohypnol. Ryan. The night I almost killed him.

"Fuck," he says rubbing his face. "Hard drugs in my Local." He then asks about Carmen, so I can't leave that out. That part takes a while to spill out.

"You know I have to let you go for that, right?" He looks off frame when I'm finished. "I'd hate to do it, man, but you fucked up and when this blows I'll have to explain it to the board."

"I know." I scratch my neck, fold a leg over the other and take a deep breath. "I was going to give my notice anyway. Just, not this early, I guess."

He looks up. "Why, what are you planning? You staying there?"

I nod. "Tired, Emmett. I wanna do photography. I think I got something that'll get me a good job."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Just don't tell anyone it's all of Bella. They're…" I shake my head, whistle low. He looks serious. I look away and clear my throat.

"You're a walking dead man."

"She knows. She gave me her consent."

He shakes his head. "Regardless." I know he means Rose.

I shrug. "Yeah, well, I can't raise a kid on union wages. No offense. I have to do something."

"Just on the account of Bella, right?" he asks. That angers me. He doesn't know shit about us.

I lean onto the table. "I care for her. I'd give her anything, do anything for her. But I could barely ever get a yard close. You don't know anything."

"I know enough," he says waving a hand towards his door. "Clearly. But knowing what I know, seeing what I've seen, do I think you deserve her?" He shakes his head. "No. She's good. She's innocent. And frankly, I'm with Rose here. Figure out your life and let her go before you hurt her further."

I don't say shit.

He sighs, takes a drink. "Alright, so you have a plan. Neither of which involves both women. You're leaving, but were you going to tell Carmen this? Where does Bella fit into the picture? No pun. But bro, that's no way to treat a lady. You've never had an old man to show you the ropes. That's something you gotta learn on your own. Ask me, I'll help, I'll be blunt."

We fall into this silence. I nip on a hanging nail and stare at a wall. The anger filling it up with visions before my eyes. Bella's swollen belly instead. Us in New York, her by my side. But it all goes to shit. This evil person I've messed with takes up the picture. Rose takes up most of it, ruining it. Forever keeping her away. And Bella, my Bella, hating my guts forever.

My chest feels like it'll explode and I can't keep still. I see red.

Emmett calls out before my fist goes through the drywall over and over. The desk chair goes flying. I see it but I don't feel it. Not even a pounding satisfaction through my limbs, my chest, with the crash. I find something else to grab. Everything.

"Edward!" I hear through the speakers. I lean both palms on the desk and this is all I've got. I've got nothing. I sure as fuck don't have Bella. Never have. Never will.

"You're right," I tell him. "I didn't ask for your help." I reach up and slap the laptop shut. I slowly grab the large bookshelf off the floor and start cleaning up all the glass and stray books. Blood rolling off my knuckles.

All of Bella's photos are still drying, intact, hanging off a clothesline. And maybe I wasn't stupid enough to destroy those, but I can't look at them. I leave the room to go find supplies and avoid Jess' nagging questions from all the noise. These drywalls aren't going to patch themselves up. Just like the gaping hole in my chest.

...

* * *

 **A/N: End of Masen Bite-size moments...that were not so bite-sized, I guess. To make it clear, this is what was happening when Bella wasn't there. So, after this, Monday comes and Bella goes back to work. Emmett asks her about the night with Ryan and fires all the fuckers. Masen brews with this for a couple days until he comes back to find her in the airport with Serrano, etc. You get the picture.**

 **So, of course, there was more behind reasons for him leaving. There were a lot of things. Still shitty of him? Yes. What were the reasons for the RL guy leaving? I don't know, but it sure as shit wasn't something so monumental. He just left for maybe reasons like, "I'm just not that into you." That's worse, but that's beside the point. This is all fic, not RL. I don't think we'd be able to stomach the raw RL version in a fic. Robust fic version it is.**

 **Rose is angry for her own psychotic reason because, why not? She's an older sis who cares and who knows Masen closely for many years. Wouldn't you be?  
**

 **Masen is adamant in talking with Bella because, why not? He was a friend who is now, in his mind, messed with her, lead her on, and Rose's baby sister. Reasons why he's been staying away for years. And not only that, he's in deep shit with another woman in general. Wouldn't some guys be adamant and cowardly?**

 **Onward, no more explaining the whys. Here we go. Present day next chap, back to Bella. LOVE, LOVE, LOVE your reactions since it invented this chap. If you didn't say anything, I wouldn't have written more. Seriously, I don't think I've ever read reviews for a fic where readers are hating dreamy Edward. Now THAT'S monumental. Hah.  
**

 **Off I go to procrastinate at a work meeting.**


	16. Chapter 16 - After

**_Present day - Bella_**

Rose is staring at me. I don't look up but I can feel the heat. Kate beside me gingerly touches my arm and I pull away. She balls her fist. "I'm sorry," Kate says, "But I'm worried. I couldn't take it."

I can't believe she brought me here...to mom's. I feel the heartburn crawling up. _I will not vomit again._

Mom blinks. She watches me closely. Her eyes watering. Her hand thin and trembling at her lips. Speechless. I want to tell her I also have been speechless for a long time now—weeks. But I physically can't. Not that she needs to listen to my drama. She has her own. She's well but still getting better from a sick kidney. Full body going apeshit just to tell docs her kidney was not well. I haven't seen her in weeks so I can mope and cry spontaneously. Daughter of the year.

I chuckle now. "Is this an intervention? Seriously?" They all look at me, at my mask. "I'm not an alcoholic or a drug addict and I sure as hell don't hurt people."

"But he did." Rose. I scoff. The action just makes me gag with nausea. I breathe through my nose. Food hasn't been friendly lately. We have a hateful relationship. It comes back up not able to settle. Maybe my soul was poisoned, too, when he...left. All of me.

But I wake up and I smile the poison away. Because fuck him, right? Why think of someone who doesn't think of you?

Rose opens her mouth to speak but I pop up from the couch. I run to the bathroom. Forget it. Looking at toilet water just makes me more nauseated. I see the burrito from lunch and the green smoothie because that's how I roll. Now it's just my insides pouring out right after the healthy and junk food. A washcloth finds my peripheral. I snatch at it and melt on the tiles to my knees.

"Oh, dear god, she's pregnant."

I look up at the voice. They're all at the door piled in like nosy neighbors watching a car wreck.

Mom definitely has tears in her eyes now. Kate has big saucer eyes. Rose yells, "What?! You slept with him?"

Kate is frozen in place. "For an entire weekend," she utters as if to herself. "Like bunnies. I should've known. She's been hurling her guts out all month."

"Oh my god!" Mom shouts. "I'm gonna be a grandmother. Am I ready to be a grandmother? Good God, I'm too young for this." Mom begins to pace.

"I will fucking kill him! I'm gonna find him and rip his balls off!" Rose.

"Oh shit, Bella. Shit. You're knocked," Kate mumbles, still in her state of shock.

They're all going at the same time. I stagger to my feet. My arms flail like a crazy person. "SHUT UP!" I scream my head off. "Shut. Up. Shut up. Shut the hell up!" I make angry hand claws and grip the air.

They stop. Everyone's eyes on me.

Then the doorbell rings. They turn that way. Suddenly they all scramble and trip over themselves. "Fuck, it's Serrano," Rose says. Mom pushes her and Kate back towards me.

"No. I'll go. Take her upstairs while I distract him. He can't know she's pregnant. It'll kill him," she says running off through the hallway. Her voice echoing exasperation with an underlining of glee and excitement. The heroine of her drama is delicate and with-child. She can't contain herself.

"What the fuck!" I shout. "I'm not…"

Rose pushes me towards the stairs. Kate is already there pulling on my arm.

Mom is at the door. Her voice five octaves higher when she's trying to fake an unwelcomed welcoming. All the while I'm trying to bat at their hands and climb down the stairs. Rose's going fifty miles an hour in my ear. Her face and words fierce like they could cut. "How dare you do this to mom? I can't believe you slept with that moron! I will dry him out of every penny that bastard has," she says. Kate is trying to calm Rose down as she pulls me to the next step.

"I'M NOT FUCKING PREGNANT!" I yell at the top of my lungs. It echoes through the hallway, vibrates on the walls. The whole neighborhood stops and looks up. Probably.

Dead silence. All the push and pull stops. The wooden floors creak down the hall. Serrano's face pops in from around the wall. Mom follows behind. Her face ashen, disappointed even. Rose steps away and looks pissed.

"Oh," Kate whispers.

Serrano looks around at everyone completely confused. "Well, it wasn't me who tried." He lifts his palms up.

Mom rubs his arm. "We know, hun. We're talking about…"

"Don't say that name!" I shout. She presses her lips together. "It was a fucking burrito, OK? A really, really bad one!" I press the heels of my hands to my eyes. "God, you're all maniacs!"

"So, what the hell happened then?" Rose spits. I look up at her. Sick of her shit.

"You nosy shits want to know what happened?" I seethe. I straighten my disheveled clothes. "He left. I didn't! I said I loved him and he laughed in my face. Is that what you want to hear?"

Rose blinks. She looks at the floor. Mom's shoulders visibly drop. Kate is quiet as a mouse. "So, go ahead and laugh and say I told you so. It doesn't matter to me anymore. I'm trying to move on, so let me!"

"I should probably just…" Serrano steps away sheepishly pointing a thumb at the door. Mom hooks his arm so she won't fall. "M-kay," he mutters and stays put.

"But are you sure?"

"About what, Rose? That I regret I even told him? That I want to hire a hitman?"

She shakes her head. Her brows knit. "That you're not pregnant."

I sigh. I cover my eyes that begin to prickle like needles. Truth is I'm not completely sure and once mom said it my stomach made a flip and I wanted to hurl again. Didn't even cross my mind besides anger and loneliness.

I barely shake my head under my hands. It's enough. She walks off to the living room and comes back with a bag full of boxes. She pulls one out and slaps it in my palm.

"Go find out then," she says.

I turn the box around and it's a pregnancy test. Wait.

"How did you…" I begin to say. But she pushes me into the bathroom. "No, wait. How did you just happen to have one? Do you carry these around in case you spontaneously get pregnant?"

She sighs. "Yes. Whatever." She rolls her eyes.

"Are _you_ pregnant?" I ask her.

"Oh, Mylanta!" Mom shouts from down the hallway. "Two grandbabies?"

"Ma!" We both yell at the same time. She covers her mouth.

"Who?" I turn to Rose. "Tell me so I can rip his balls off." I give her a look.

She crosses her arms defiantly. "It's none of your business."

"Oh, so lets all butt into Bella's life, right? Hypercritical bitch." I throw the box at her.

Kate snorts. Rose watches me through narrow slits. "Let's just say we both can agree on doing stupid things with two very stupid men."

"Who?" I insist.

Kate breaks the awkward pause with a gasp. I look her way and she knows but tries to hide it. I wrap my hand around her neck to pin her to the wall.

"Who, dammit!"

Her eyes cut to Rose. "I'm sorry but I love my face and I'm threatened right now." She looks at me and blurts, "Emmett! I saw her one Saturday leaving his house!" She would know, Kate lives down the block.

Now it's my turn to gasp. "You little whore. He's my boss. What is wrong with you?"

"I could say the same for you!" She argues. "Seriously? Masen? After I told you time and again about his sorry ass!"

I lift a palm. "Nope. Everything you say now has no weight. We've all found out little miss perfect is _not._ Congratulations, you're normal. How does it feel?"

She's looking away but the moment her face crumbles all my anger dissolves. She cries. Her fear and horror shows. She's dying inside. I've never in my years have seen her so defeated. Mom runs over and hugs her. I sigh.

Serrano slowly backs away from the ball of raging hormones wrecking a havoc in this hallway. I notice.

"I'll just…" He points to the door against his back.

Fuck. This is bad. I need to talk to him. He stares into my soul knowing I've been dishonest. Our relationship and the growing affection and touches on his part seem silly now, one-sided.

I nod. It's all I can do, yet I don't go after him. I stay.

Rose is bawling on mom's shoulder. I look at the box on the floor and then I'm crying. Kate's eyes go big and lend a shoulder to me. "What the fuck is wrong with us?" I wail.

Kate lays her head on my head and wipes her tears away. "Why are you crying? Are you pregnant, too?" I ask her.

She sniffles. "I just have a lot of feelings and no sisters, OK?" I roll my eyes and hug her to me.

I look at mom and Rose. "Rose. Just calm down. I'm sorry. You're not a whore." Truce.

She snorts from where she is. She straightens and wipes her face on her sleeve. "What the fuck am I gonna do? I can't have a baby! I was going to get promoted to chief of staff and…" She chokes up and wails like a toddler, "It's what I always wanted!"

"A baby is a blessing, hunny," mom coos. She's so elated she tries to contain it but can't. Her big smile hiding schemes in her head of swaddles, onesies, and cribs. I roll my eyes.

"Look. You're an adult, not a scared pimple faced teenager. Figure it out. There are successful women in your field with kids." She looks at me hard. I shrug. "Besides, from what I hear, Emmett would be so happy he'll marry you on the spot."

That makes her cry harder. I look at Kate. "What did I say?" She shrugs. We watch her dissolve. "Well you slept with him, there's some part you must've liked. Apart from the most obvious, of course." Kate nods. Mom reprimands me.

I'm just glad the attention is off of me for once. We end up on the floor listening to her vent about Emmett and how he moved on to another chick in college. Truth is she wouldn't date him. He was a smart-assed privileged little shit from western Massachusetts and his ways never sat well with her. And to boot, a republican—deal breaker for Rose. He'd chase her around for years until he gave up, found someone else and moved on. Maybe not from his feelings, but from her. I know this part because he'd come knocking on the door asking where he could find her. Every time, mom or I would send him off pitying the fool. He was, is, head over heels.

He moved on once, it's when she noticed him, found interest, grew some awful feelings she didn't want. He was different. The city had molded him into an ambitious hard working man who dedicated his life to helping people. Panty dropping qualities for Rose. You can't understand women.

"I met with him to talk about these two idiots," she says to mom pointing at me. "And It just…happened."

"Over and over again," says Kate. I snort loud. I cover it up.

"Well, you're welcome. It's what you get for butting into my life," I say.

"Do you love him?" Mom asks. Rose sniffs and covers her face to go for round two. Oh, she loves him alright. "Aww, hunny. You have to tell him and about the baby." Mom pets her excitedly.

"What about you?" Kate looks at me. I stare off at a wall, terrified. A little person coming out of me with brown curls and olive skin? _No._

"I won't tell him." Simple as that. Everyone looks at me. I can't look back at them. My knees crack and everything is sore when I stand. "C'mon sis, let's go pee on sticks together and cry about babies…and assholes who put them in there."

"Pound them in there?"

"Shut it, Kate," I spit.

The waiting for blue lines or terrifying digital words to appear is torture. I think this is how it feels to be a soldier, a gun in hand, ready to pull, kill, something permanent will happen. I'll die.

The sticks sit on the coffee table where we placed them. All four. Two for her, two for me. And I can't believe she bought all these for herself. Geez. I don't ask since she looks like she might burst. But it doesn't escape me that this is the first time we're doing something together, on the same level. She's not more superior than I am. No judging, sneers, or moronic comments. She'll just be saying them about herself. Despite the circumstance, I like it. We're relating. For once.

She looks at me, though. Her puffy eyes folding onto themselves and she sees me differently. I was with her best friend in ways she never wanted. She trusted him, she protected me from him. I realize she just didn't want me to be just like this. Hurt.

I get it. The understanding blossoms in my chest and I feel like shit. She was really just desperate for me to not feel what she's felt.

So, I ask her, because her knowing gaze doesn't let up. "Why?" She knows what I mean.

She takes a breath. "Because I wanted what you had from him. And he was never interested." She shakes her head embarrassed. "I would have been settling with him. He knew that. I was too stubborn to see it. Or too...lonely, hurt, angry." She stares at her hands wringing a washcloth over and over. "He was never for me and I knew it. I didn't even like him. Couldn't stand him." She chuckles. "But he was there so, I guessed..." She shrugs.

She straightens herself on the couch. Her cashmere wraps around her delicate shoulders, her long slender legs (longer than mine) fold under her. She faces me straight away. Her gaze piercing. "Do you realize you're the first woman to capture him so intently? I've never in my life seen him look at anyone, let alone kiss anyone the way he did with you on that sidewalk." She breathes. She swallows heavy. "It took my breath away, it enraged me. I hurt you because of it and I'm sorry."

I blink. Wow. Another first. She never apologizes. I don't know what to say. But _she_ does. She continues to speak.

"It always bothered me that you are the funniest. The one everyone likes to be around. The nice, carefree sister." She rolls her eyes. "Of course, he'd fall for you. He didn't see it coming. Blinded by the bright light behind Bella." She shakes her head. "Now, I find out the sidewalk display was more than I saw?" She looks away. "Of course, I knew. I just didn't want to admit it," she says to herself. "I could kill him," she whispers.

I grow red and dive that last part. I scoff instead. "Right, because I'm so great and tall and pretty, with a respectable career and life goals. Not to mention a fantastic choice in men. I barely graduated from college...with a liberal arts degree, by the way. A fancy word for people who still don't know what to do with their lives. My smart sister had to find me a job."

She sighs, shakes her head. Her eyes close like I'm an idiot. "That's not what that degree means."

"My point exactly. You would know."

"Stop it," she snaps. "It means you're too multifaceted. You can't be nailed to one talent. You have too many. You can do anything and excel in anything that you do. That makes me crazy. You're creative and interesting just like dad." She chokes up.

We can all agree how perfect he was. He was the type who would liven up the family. He planned vacations and birthday parties and never forgot an anniversary. Nimble hands making sculptures and lamps from copper and brass pipes he'd sell on eBay. Works of arts we still have around the house.

I grow red again. I never knew what she really thought about me. She beamed when anyone pointed out her likeness to dad. His looks and bone structure. I got the frumpy end of the deal. My looks from a great grandmother on mom's side. But she had nice tits, mom would say. Great.

"Yes, well, it also makes me messy, impulsive, indecisive, a hopeless romantic...list goes on." I point out.

"Forgetful. Irresponsible…" Kate adds. I shove her away.

Rose looks at us. "Yeah well, I can't even keep a friend. Masen was the only one who'd see my bullshit and tell me so."

I sigh. Great. I slept with her only friend and drove him away.

"You don't see yourself, do you? You're, like, the strongest woman I know. You deserve the world because of your sacrifices to us, your life, but you won't let anyone tell you so or help you." I say right back. "You speak, everyone listens. You have fucking structure in your life. You want something, you got it in weeks time. The one thing you can't control happens spontaneously and you resist it. Just stop it." Her chin trembles. "Let go," I finally say. She sniffs around a new strand of tears.

I pick up one of her sticks and read it. I throw it on her lap. "Everything wonderful for you is falling on your lap. I think you should let it. Trust you'll be happy." She sees the blue lines and she knows in her heart she'll be an amazing mom and a wife to a gorgeous republican who loves her. I watch her embrace it.

Mom looks over her shoulder. She whoops so loudly I start. Her tears spill. She hugs her and touches her growing grandbaby in her belly while Rose cries through a smile.

Kate is full on bawling her eyes out. I ignore her like everyone ignores me for just this second. I pick up my sticks and breathe because all the attention will definitely be off of me from now on. Clear, no lines and no remnants of him. It's official. Am I sad about it? A little. Those long minutes waiting for the answer build up, gives you a spark of maternal hope. But it's inevitable. Every moment with him amounts to nothing.

Fuck burritos. I'm done with them...and him.

...

* * *

 **A/N: Thanks for your reactions last chap. I get you 100%. It's how I feel as well. Crossing my fingers I can meet all your needs with what comes next and what I still don't know yet. We're all in this together, though. I want things to get better, too. Hearts for your reviews.**


	17. Chapter 17 - Serrano

**Chapter 17 - Serrano**

"It's ok, really," Serrano says chagrined.

I'm holding his hand, pleading with a look of despair. Serrano hates me. I know it.

We met up after I called him fifty times. He wouldn't pick up, but he couldn't ignore me, not when he opened the door to his apartment and I was standing there. I'm wearing Mary Janes, a waist high soft cotton pencil skirt and a jean jacket so I'll look as childish as I've felt after treating him like such.

His kisses grew stronger, longer over time. He'd hold my hand on sidewalks when we'd go out. He'd sit with his arm around me in front of friends and coworkers. All the while, I was confused about what the hell was happening, who I was. My heart was raw. My spirit dragging on the floor, still, for a long time after Masen left.

For me, there was no eating, sleeping or anything healthy one does for themselves. His words of torture looped in my mind and during all of it, Serrano held my hand.

I didn't tell him anything about what happened. No one. Not even Kate. All anyone knew was Masen spontaneously disappeared and I stopped talking about him. But they all know now after the cry fest at mom's house. Seems like Serrano was perfectly fine with not knowing or being proactive about asking before that. He had plans. _Us._

"It's not. I didn't want to tell anybody. It was mine to keep. But I should've said something before this got out of hand," I explain to him.

"Was it? Getting out of hand?" he asks. "I thought you wanted it." I shake my head.

"You never asked permission," I say. He looks away, takes a sip of his beer. "What made you think it's what I needed and give you the right to run with it? I'm a mess. You know that much."

He's quiet. After a moment he speaks. "I wanted so badly for you to forget."

"Nope. No person would. Sorry."

"Still?" he asks. I give him a look. He nods. "Guess I'll return the ring then."

My eyes widen. My stomach drops with it.

"I'm kidding," he says with a smirk.

"You shit." I punch his arm. He remains stoic. Then, I wonder if it was a joke. I choose to ignore it and move on.

I open his fridge and stuff my face with things.

He speaks from the living room. "So, I guess I won't tell him we're getting married when I run into him again?" I freeze. Strawberry and cube of cheese stuffed in my mouth, hungry rat in _Ratatouille_ style.

I turn to him. "Eh, what?" He gives me a tentative grin. I sit on the armchair across from him and swallow hard.

His apartment is small with a view of Porter Square. It's amazing to walk along the shops in the spring, so I'm jealous, but definitely not of his decor. He calls it minimalist, I call it broke-ass bachelor pad. Though, he's definitely not broke, just not interested. With him traveling it makes sense to not have much but a bed, a couch, a table and the essentials.

I settle in for the long haul on this armchair we found by the sidewalk. I weave my fingers together over my lap and exaggerate my poster like this is a business deal and I'm all ears. I have a feeling I won't like what he'll tell me.

"Tell me more," I say.

He makes a fist and relaxes it. "Stupid move. I need my hands to work."

I gasp."You punched him?" Forget the posture, I tense.

He shrugs. "Lights out, 'cause fuck him."

"You knocked him out?!" I lean in. He scoffs way too smug and obvious. My shoulders drop. "OK, liar."

"Dude's a fucking rock. Barely stumbled. I made him bleed at least," he says as he rubs his hand. He's silent, thinking. I wish I could read his mind and all the images passing through it. The money I'd pay to see it.

"When? Where? _What?_ " I'm gonna die if he doesn't talk.

"A few weeks back in New York when I was there." He nods once. "He was in front of some gallery in Manhattan. Some people were standing around him, they were mingling, I guess. I slapped his wine glass out of his hand like a bitch and punched him square. No questions asked." He rolls his eyes.

"What did he do?" I pause before I ask more. _How did he look? Who was he with?_ My stomach is tied up.

Serrano shrugs. "He spit out blood and turned. He got one good look at me and stopped himself from charging. He remembered me." His jaw flexes as he stares at the wall behind me.

"OK, and..."

He shrugs. "Shit got tense. People got rowdy. Someone yelled to call the police. Craig, this buddy of mine from work was with me and got a blow out of nowhere. Some rich douche standing by him. He was probably drunk and thought it would turn into a fucking random brawl or some shit. So, I swung at him, too. Craig and I started pounding on anyone who'd jump in."

"But where was Masen in all this? Did he jump in?"

"Well, that's where it gets interesting. Other dudes from the circle went in to defend that nosy fucker who jumped in but, he held them back with the help of the bouncer. He kept yelling at his circle that it was handled. Craig and I backed away, too."

I curl my brows. "Then what?"

"Naw, you know. Just talking shit after." Serrano scratches his ear where he leans an elbow on the couch. He doesn't want to say anything else, I can tell, as he diverts my gaze. But he sure as hell will if it's the last thing I pull out of him. I give him a look. His toned arm lands on the armrest with a thump.

He shakes his head. "Ah...he just..." he says with a shrug. "Didn't say much. He stepped up to me, but not defensively or anything. I didn't let him talk. I told him a bunch of shit. I was pissed." He pauses.

I stare at him and after a moment roll my wrist to get more out of him. "So, you said..."

He sighs. He takes the last sip of his beer, swishes it in his mouth and swallows. His hands run down his jean-clad thighs before he picks up the Xbox remote. He starts up what's frozen on the giant TV. That, of course, he splurged on.

I grab the remote and stuff it down my shirt. The lump exaggerated and touching my chin.

His hands fall on his lap with a slap like "what the fuck."

"I'm officially 100 years old." I refer to this snail-paced conversation.

"I wouldn't hesitate fetching that," he says with a warning.

"They have teeth. At your risk." My face blank. "Word for word," I say to move this along.

He huffs and rushes through it. "He said, 'You.' I said, 'Yeah, me. Your worst nightmare, fucker.' He asked, 'Why are you here?' like if I was sent to find him. I told him I sure as fuck was sent to find him. He said he didn't want any trouble. I said, 'You're already a trouble.' That got him quiet until he said if we left he'd let it slide. That's when I got pissed."

I raise a hand. "Wait, wait." I interrupt. "Did you seriously say to him 'Your worst nightmare?' Like, in those words exactly?" I ask. I try not to crack a grin but it probably slips. No, definitely slips.

"Do you want to hear this or not?" he says all hysterical.

I gesture a sealed lip and sit back. "As you were." He rolls his eyes.

"He got real close, I thought he'd kiss me it was that intrusive. I told him to back the fuck off me. I was ready to swing again. But he asked about you," he says. I hold my breath. The words sober me right up. "He had the audacity to ask. I told him it wasn't his damn business, that if he thought about even saying your name again I'd cut his fucking tongue off."

I stare at him. "You carry a knife?" I ask. He rolls his eyes.

"What do you think?"

That makes me uncomfortable, but it makes sense. You can get the kid out of Southie, but...

"Did it make him back off at least?" I ask. He sighs knowing he can't stop here.

"Do you think it did?" he asks. No. I don't think any threat would cower him. I wait. For more.

"Well, what do you expect? He was pissed, but he couldn't do one hell of a thing about it," he continues. I give him that side stare.

"And why do you think that is?" I push.

He shrugs again. "Maybe I told him something that would keep him in line."

"Like..."

"Don't worry about it."

"Too late," I spit.

He looks away, scratches his head. "It was like a 'fuck you'. Like, 'I got her, I'm taking care of her, picking up after the mess he left behind', actually stepping up and being a man." He goes a slight red. He glares at me like he doesn't give two fucks and he's not ashamed. "That's what I told him. He's a piece of shit, Bella. He deserves all the curses in the world. And I swear, if I cross his path again he won't be a worry you'll ever have again." I blink.

We fall into this tense silence. Damn. His eyes. They say he's not lying. Chills creep up my spine and maybe having him close isn't such a horrible thing. I need perspective about a messy past I always saw through a rosy-pink heartsick lens.

I slowly pull out the controller and extend my arm towards him. He doesn't take an inch, he takes the full yard. He pulls from my elbow until I'm falling over him, pressed to his chest. He says, "Was that so wrong? Tell me it wasn't."

I try to find his eyes. Our nose bump together. Close. Right here, in his arms, was always safe and sound.

"It wasn't," I whisper back. "Maybe the threat was a bit too much." He grins. He kisses said nose on this hot face of mine and hugs me close. I never did notice these arms, just the right fit around my waist. The perfect amount of strength to lift and carry and help you move forward, not backward. I love his shoulders. Those can carry, too, some of my baggage to ease the weight on mine. My hands wander. They have kind of been doing that, too. No permission. I'm to blame. Him. 50/50. Halfway.

I sit up. I came to make a point. _What was my point?_ Ah, yes, touching. Affection. Confusion. Yet, this is nice being on his lap. I guess I'm not used to how normal and effortless this can be. I'm used to difficult and intense.

"I left. That was it," he says like he knows I'd ask.

I can't speak. We grow silent staring at one another. I get up to leave. I need some time. Alone. I open the front door and lean on it.

"So, we're good?" I ask.

"Sure."

"Dinner tomorrow night?"

"I'll pick."

I pause. "And who knows, you and me, maybe some day. Just...time." I tell him. He watches me. "Sooner if you punch him twice next time you see him. No knife." He smiles. I close the door, but the one in my heart is wide open and creaking.

I lay in bed and I'm angry. He's moved on. Socializing. Telling jokes. Making people love him with his stupid intellect. He's an asshole with no heart. I curse Rose for ever introducing me to him. No sleep. I watch the sun peek through my window and remember all the things in this room.

I work and there's nothing in me. Months later the Local moves to another part of the city. Kate and I stay together. Emmett continues to manage us, so, at least there's some routine in changes.

He fights me and I fight back because I refuse to be the new director of the team. He insists, saying I have the experience. I don't want it. Many are older in the group and look at me like I'm dirt even though they're complete morons that don't know what they're doing. I lead trainings already and know all the material it takes to run a new project. Why wouldn't I? Masen was a great teacher. So, the badgering comes in a form of a question every day from Emmett. "You sure?" My heart picks up every time.

The day Jess comes back to Boston, I watch her closely. No mention of Masen at all. In fact, it's like he doesn't exist. It still didn't stop me from wondering if she said good-bye, left him behind. I wondered If he touched her at all, a farewell hug, or helped her with her bags. I watched those by her desk just imagining his fingers, strong hands, wrapped around the handle and pulling on luggage. Just having her near made me feel him close. One degree of separation. That presence. Her aura picking up on his vibes, he was near even if he wasn't here. It drove me slowly mad.

Jess quit soon after that. I was glad. She found a job at a law office where I hear she helps men deal with marital issues. And when I mean helps, I mean hands on help. Kate's words, not mine. I'm happy for her. She figured out what she's really good at.

The other guys on the team stayed on, including Kate's beau John. They all have more responsibilities now. No time to slack or bar hop after work or weekends that much anymore. The team is younger and doing all the partying for us. I just wait for one of them to screw up like we did so I'll watch them go.

The week I give in and accept the promotion I'm on my laptop staring at my bank account. It's grown substantially. I'm actually saving money. I can do things now, splurge a little. It's great since I'm half a person now and impulse buying cures anything.

My inbox pings. I get a vague email from an unknown with _studio_ as part of the handle. I almost send it to junk mail when I stop. The familiar signature I've recognized for years is at the bottom. I scroll back up. A pound in my chest.

 _Congratulations on your promotion. Heard it through the vine. You deserve it and more. Proud of you. I always knew you'd make it._

 _M*_

I stare at the screen. I read it five times. Every time I feel more numb. I click a button and it goes away. I stare at my reflection on the dark screen. There's a knock at my office door. I go about my day.

That night when I meet Serrano and Rose for dinner at mom's, I walk right up to him on the porch. I don't say anything. I kiss him—whole heartily and fully on the lips. He doesn't see it coming.

...

* * *

 **A/N:** Made friends with so many readers on FB where I just might continue to post teasers over at The ficwhisperers group and Pay it Forward. Shout out to all the girls! And a mighty thanks to Mariah Hajiel for the rec at Lemonade stand. So many hearts and love. Thank you for the reviews. Hearts for you, too.


	18. Chapter 18 - Reply

**Chapter 18 - Reply**

I've asked Rose five hundred times if she'll finally tell Emmett about the baby. Every time, she stays quiet.

She's so infuriating. She hasn't spoken to him in weeks. Completely cut him off. The times she has seen him in the past months, nothing comes out of her but casual chat before she runs away. It amounts to nothing. The poor guy mopes around at the office staring at paperwork with vacant eyes. I caught him once staring at pictures of Rose off the statehouse website. He sent me for some printouts down the hall to probably die of embarrassment. I just grinned. There's something I know that he doesn't. But that's just it, It's taking far too long. I've wanted to shout it out, run to my office and close the door.

So, I do. Well, not really. She's stuck her nose in my life, let's shake hers up a bit.

I tell him one Friday in his office that Rose needs him. His eyes widen. "What? Why?" I almost laugh, but mostly I feel bad.

"Uh, cool it, tiger. She...bought something big that she's going to deliver...err...I mean they are. And it's gonna need some lifting." I make big hand gestures. I tend to do that when I'm lying I notice.

"Something big." He stares through narrowed lids.

"Yes, like _big._ An...elliptical and yeah. It's just us women with our weak upper body strength and all that. So, she _needs_ you. Tonight, her house, 7 P.M. Bye." I run out.

"Who delivers at night?" He asks in my wake. I keep moving.

I leave early to grab some groceries and wine. Then I drop the wine and grab some organic juice. Then I pick up wine _and_ cider in case it goes wrong and she can pretend.

I'm at her apartment and she's on her bed looking a damn mess in her work clothes. Her face pale and sweaty. She's disheveled and panting softly.

"What in the world…" I mutter. I've never seen her like this.

"Fucking morning sickness my ass! This shit goes on and on." She grumbles. It's almost 7. I get her a washcloth and a casual, soft dress she can comfortably slip on. She thinks I'm just being nice but boy is she in for it. Her hair is waved just right when it's off her tight bun, so it's perfect. I get her tea and a blanket and have her relax on the couch while I make pasta.

"Urgh, thank you, Bella. I've had a shit week. I'm done. I don't want to go anywhere or see anyone." She says from the living room.

The doorbell rings. Suddenly I regret this. _Fuck, fuck, fuck. She's gonna kill me._

I appear in her living room. "Don't thank me yet," I mumble to myself. "I'll get it!"

He showered. His hair is combed back and he's wearing an ironed shirt buttoned up. I hold back a chuckle and show him inside. He's confused and nervous. His hands rub on his jeans continuously. "Come on in, I'll get you a drink while we...wait."

He looks around. I don't think he's been at her place at all. God, my sister is a terrible person. He goes in ahead of me and enters the living room. I hold my breath.

"Emmett...what are you…"

I run into the kitchen.

I see them perfectly from behind the microwave. "So you bought an elliptical? That's...good," he says.

"Um, excuse me?" Rose.

I cringe. I couldn't think up a better lie, could I? She's surprised and now offended. He's the fittest person I know. A comment about exercise from the fittest person you know is an insult, period.

"Bella told me to come over and help."

I pop in with a tray. "Drinks?" I smile big. She glares at me. "Rose, aren't you going to offer him a seat? Geesh."

"It's fine. I'll just wait outside."

"No!" I shout. "I mean, it's dark out just chill for a sec. I made pasta." He watches me closely but sits after a beat. Her couch is quaint and there are no other comfortable, feasible chairs so they comically look cozy on the loveseat. I settle on the oversized ottoman. No one says a thing. We all take a sip of ice cold juice. The ice clinking is the only sound adding to the awkwardness.

I look at my watch. Serrano better call the house on time. His one and only job. On the dot, the phone rings. I pop up. "Got it!"

I whisper fiercely to Serrano about everything. Then we talk about the weekend and stupid things like this show that's on and I'm missing it. All the while I hear murmurs from the living room. They're talking. I smile.

By the time I hang up, dinner is ready and I plate it to bring them in.

"Bad news. The elliptical won't be delivered tonight. They just called. Some...backup at the...place where they keep them stored." I smile. Rose rolls her eyes. "Come, let's eat."

I pass by Rose who takes a whiff of the contents on the plates. She holds her nose. Her throat gets going, she gags. Emmett looks at her but she recovers quickly and grins.

I beckon for him to come to the table. He sits after pulling out a chair for her. I grab my own plate and settle in front of them. I swear she's gonna barf. I talk a mile a minute to distract him, but he's not biting. He watches her intently. He picks up his fork but before he takes a bite she's up and vomiting in a vase close by.

"Umm…" he says nervously. He goes to her but she's quick, she straightens. "Are you alright?"

 _Oh god._ "She just…burrito...bad burrito!" I say, with flailing hands.

"Emmett, I'm pregnant!" She shouts. It's so loud I start, so does he. He stares.

"Ok, so yes, I'll be right over there." I run out of the room. I watch from behind my new spying spot in the kitchen as he falls at her feet. I die a little. I knew he'd worship her every move from now on.

Emmett cries. I'm watching my boss cry. It's weird. He hugs her middle, lays his cheek on her belly. She's kind of freaked. It takes a moment but she hugs him back. Then a smile breaks. Thank Christ. This woman can be so emotionless.

I snap a few pictures with my phone, send them off to everybody. _Perfect._ Problem solved.

With the food forgotten, they sit in the living room. I suck up a few noodles twirled on my fork in the kitchen and watch them become different people. It's fascinating. They kiss, they pet, they're happy. But my heart feels this crack just watching. I can't help thinking, how would have Masen reacted? Surely not like this. Not in a million years.

I grab my phone and thumb over the buttons to that one email I've been re-reading twenty times a day...and then I read it again.

...

"Will you reply?" Kate asks. I finally told someone. It's been two weeks. She holds my phone up and reads it again, this time out loud.

We're in the new office. There's this lounge where we heat up lunch. I'm at a table with my bag and dirty dishes I've covered up to take home. I ignore her question.

"Proud of me." I scoff. "Who the fuck says that to someone they broke up with?"

Kate nods. "Masen would. That condescending ass." She pauses. "But it's sweet," she says quick. I look at her, she stares back like she's challenging me. "He's thinking about you. It's an olive branch."

"Yes. So generous. A branch. Serrano and I are dating. I guess it's official after sucking his face a couple of times. So, who cares?"

"You do."

"I do."

"Yeah," she affirms. My insides curl up. I hold my head. Visions of a train rushing away with him in it.

"Kate," I whisper. I feel her look at me. She hums. "I can't be fixed."

She sighs. "You can. You just need time. You need a vacation. Runaway for a bit. And you need to stop stringing Serrano on."

Fuck, she's right. What am I thinking? He sure as hell can't fix me. But then I deserve to move on. I shrug. "But I really like him. He's sweet and caring and good for me. I want so much to be with him."

She doesn't respond. I hear tapping on the soft buttons on my blackberry. I look up.

"What are you doing?" I ask. She stops tapping.

She dictates her words aloud. "Thank you for your kind words. There are many in my life who tell me such every day. Yours were additional but not necessary. Please refrain from contacting me further so I'll move on just as you have. You owe me that much." She hits a button.

I panic. I snatch my phone away and stare at it.

"Sent," Kate says. The reply arrow apparent at the corner of the screen. I can't breathe. "There. Now you can move on. You want to be with Serrano? Then be with him." She stands and leaves.

I scroll through the outbox and find it there, word for word. I can't even speak. But then I can't get angry. I feel this odd relief, a weight lifted. I couldn't have written a better reply if I tried 1000 times. I pick up my stuff and go after her. She's at her desk and on the phone. I juggle the bundle of stuff I have in my arms in one. I hug her around her shoulders with the other. Lips by her ear I tell her "Thank you" because only she could do such an intrusive thing and make it completely honest and helpful. She kisses my forearm.

Emmett is standing by watching us oddly but he keeps the snarky comment brewing up inside to himself. We grin at him. He shakes his head.

His cell phone rings from his pocket. He flips the phone and looks at the screen. He shifts uncomfortably. Turning to his back he takes the call. "Sup," he says. After a moment he glances at me and looks away. "Yup. Fine. Nothing...alarming, I guess. Why?" He walks into his office and closes the door, ending our eavesdropping and the awkward exchange.

And I know. I know in my heart it's him. "So, they talk," I say to Kate. She sees it too as we watch Emmett through the glass.

She chuckles darkly. "I guess he got the message. Boom, you fucker."

I slowly walk to my office as I watch Emmett in his. His shoulders tense, eyes to the floor, hand on his hip as he speaks on the phone. He looks up. I meet his eyes. He's upset. Before I close my door I read the words on his lips. _"She's more than fine."_

It hits me like a ton of bricks. How dare him still take up space in my life after six months? Just when I was beginning to trust, live, breathe again. It's just so like him to string me back again.

I walk towards Emmett's office with purpose. His eyes light up. I push the door open and slam it shut. "Give me the phone." I reach out my hand.

"Uhh, Bella…" He drops his hand and stuffs the phone in his pocket.

"Hand it over. I want to talk to him."

The door behind me opens. Kate grabs my shoulder and pulls me back. "Babe…"

"I said, give me the fucking phone, now," I insist.

Emmett is red. He sighs, shakes his head. "Bella, we're at work. This is inappropriate. People are listening. I need you to go back to your office."

"I will tell Rose you smoke cigars on weekends. She will _love_ that."

He hands over the phone. Kate curses behind me. Emmett backs away hands up.

I put the phone to my ear. "Hey, asshole. Do you mind? I'm trying to live here. Stop harassing others and spying like a coward that you are or I'll take a flight and end your life. You got that?"

 _"Bella..."_ He sighs and goes quiet.

Suddenly, this was a bad idea. My stomach turns at the sound of his voice. All the feelings come storming back.

" _I'm sorry. I…I just…"_

"No," I say. This calm over me. I swallow a lump forming in my throat. "No more. You have no right."

There's this long pause. Traffic goes by, people chatting far away wherever he is.

 _"You're right. I don't."_

"I said what I said. It didn't matter to you. I'm done now." I wait for a reply but I just hear his breathing. That same softness I've heard close to my ear so many times before. I can't take it, I slap the phone shut. I drop it on the desk and head for the door.

"I'd appreciate you not telling him shit about me from now on, please."

Emmett responds quickly. "Yup, got it."

...


	19. Chapter 19 - Target

**Chapter 19 - Target**

I'm a mess. I'm a ball of anger. Days have passed now and I really would love to book a flight… and strangle Masen in his sleep. But I'm with Serrano right now. The theater is dark and his fingers gingerly caress mine. I keep snatching my hand away to grab a handful of popcorn. I'm trying to be nice, I'm trying a lot of things, but I can't keep control or focus. Anything Serrano does makes me repel and want to snap at him. But I don't. I make time when he wants to hang out. I talk when he wants to talk. I say all the right things. But when I'm alone I wipe at my eyes, a constant river draining out. He gives me space because he's not blind. He uses work as an excuse to be busy and leaves me alone for days on end. I don't bring up the obvious or apologize.

Rose blows up. I kind of love that she's not the kind that gracefully grows and doesn't show much but for a small bump. Her nose plumps and her appetite is comical. She eats ice cream in her car driving home from work, finishes it in her parking spot and throws away the evidence so Emmett won't see the cups and spoons.

Every time he greets her with a kiss he tastes her cold sugary lips anyway. He winks at me because she doesn't fool anyone. He's the one who empties the trash out front so she'd continue her little secret.

He's at her stoop every day waiting for her. He grabs her things and helps her up the steps. It's adorable and heart-wrenching. Sometimes she fights him to go away but inside she can't get enough. She's sick of his hovering and insistence and finally, gives him a key. Slowly but surely, Emmett slithers into her life. He has dinner ready and rubs her feet just right.

We still visit mom every Friday since the pregnancy tests. We sit on her bed and eat carbs. Then Rose cries and I follow. It's routine. She cries because she's getting fat (her words, not mine) and Emmett's constant watchful eye. I cry because… I don't know. I can't get ahold of my life.

We're watching TV now and Mom comes in with tea. She makes everything better. Our night turns into a movie marathon surrounded by pillows. Two for Rose to rest her swollen feet.

Rose sniffles and turns to me. Those sad eyes observant and just for me. She holds my hand, kisses the back of it, and apologizes. She never says a reason, but I know why and on behalf of whom. Yes, I learned to use that word.

"Everything will be just fine," she says after another boohoo session. I look at her and tell her the same.

Time trickles between my fingers. The anger dissipates. My email is vacant from vague messages. Emmett picks up calls without discomfort in front of me. _He_ really has backed away and not asked questions. Time really does do things to one's acceptance. I realize this as I lay under Serrano on his couch. His lips and hands on me. Full length of him over me.

He can't take it. He's up and lifts me off the couch to lay me back down again on his bed. Do I want this? I do. I really do. We go far until we can't. I'm too tense and he's too tired of trying. That fear so relevant in me. Will I ever be normal again? I don't know. All I can do is apologize and he does what he does best—change the subject. He makes me laugh and we're back to being friends again. The cycle of this torture we call dating. It's far from it. It's ridiculous.

Rose notes my demeanor. Why wouldn't she? She's a sister who sees all things off about the other. I automatically begin to cry. We're shopping. Her clothes don't fit much anymore. There was a melt-down about that at her house. Now we're here at a Target just figuring it out.

"This is pretty. Doesn't look maternity at all." I say while I cry pathetically. I ignore her insisting questions. She's waiting. She snatches the dress off my hands.

"You need to move on," she says. I sob into a shirt off a rack. I pop up and sniff back snot composing myself. I show her the shirt in my hands.

"This one is nice." I hiccup. "Probably have to buy it now anyway." I drop it in our cart.

"Stop it, you weirdo. You're scaring people away," she says looking around.

"Oh, blah, who cares? I'm going through a crisis here! Hasn't anyone ever been heartbroken around here before?"

This older lady across from us goes, "Uh-huh," like she's in a church. "Girl, you cry it out, no shame," she says. I give Rose a look like, "S _ee?"_

She rolls her eyes and pushes me towards a nook where clothes surround us, not people.

"I thought things were going well with you and Serrano."

I scoff. "I can't even go to third base with him without tensing up like a nun in a strip club." She looks at me.

"It was the call, wasn't it? You had to be nosy and grab Emmett's phone."

"You know about that?"

She gives me a look. "Even mom knows about that." I rub my forehead and shuffle my feet uncomfortably.

"Bella, if you think he's at a Target right now crying his eyes out, moping around, and dragging himself through life, you can think again. While you're here doing this, he's living his life."

"With who?" I ask confused.

She makes fists. "Who cares? He's moved on. You deserve more than this. He's never going to change, alright?"

"Yet, no one ever captured him so intently, right?" I recite her words right back. That gets her. She doesn't respond. "I mean why did he email me and is asking about me? That just...infuriates me. What does he want?"

She shakes her head. "You know that answer already. Don't act like you don't. What has he always done to bring you right back?"

I close my eyes. I breathe. I look around. A couple walks by but doesn't notice us. He's holding the girl's hand and looks back and smiles at her. You can tell it's new and she's not sure about him yet, but he'll charm her until she'll give in. I picture _him_ as that male stranger and her as me, hesitant but bound to follow at the end. I nod at Rose. "Yeah."

"Yeah?" She reassures.

"Yup."

"Time. Just time. I know you'll be ok." She hugs me. I nod on her shoulder.

"I still love him," I whisper, barely, terrified the world would hear it.

"I know, Hun, It's not worth it, though. Your sanity is more important." I know it's true.

Her bump between us pokes me. She gasps and holds her hand there.

"Oh, shit. Did you feel that? It punched my ovary," I almost yell. She laughs.

"Sucker punch. Even the baby is trying to tell you something."

"Great." I sigh, rubbing her belly there. We just stand there trying to picture what it's doing with stupid smiles on our faces.

"Emmett will be parked there all night when he finds out." She says begrudgingly. I laugh. He'll be obsessed.

I clear my throat and my eyes of tears. "Speaking of maturing in life, when are you making it official and marrying the poor guy?" She backs away and pushes the cart. Oh, so I can't complain but she can be difficult? Nice. "When it's born it'll take his last name, Rose, just do the same and get over it."

"What, and be pregnant in a wedding dress. Real nice." She says over her shoulder. I shrug.

"So, you have considered it."

She stops and grabs some jeggings off a rack real pissed. "Just tell him I want a princess cut on white gold if he asks."

I almost jump with glee behind her back. "Yes, ma'am." I text him on the spot and do a dance. Then, I dive to the floor when I see him.

I'm crawling. On hands and knees, I reach for Rose's ankles. She starts and looks down.

"What in the fuck..." she seethes. She shakes me off. "Bella!"

"Shh, don't say my name!" I flail an arm. She gets it. Immediately. It's that instant understanding from a sisterly bond. But instead of Rose kneeling on all fours and playing along, she gets taller. I hate when she gets taller. She twirls and looks around us over clothes racks. And there, Ryan walks along the stretched checkout lanes up front.

"Who's that?" She whispers.

"That's… um… someone I don't… I don't want to see." I whisper back.

She squints. "Well, it seems like he won't be your problem from the looks of it. His hands are… shall we say, full."

That perks my interest. I take a peek between clothes. Sure enough, there's someone beside him. I stand on two feet slowly. We watch as Ryan pushes a cart with a car seat in it. He pokes inside, under the hood. The baby blanket moves at the little feet, the only thing visible from our angle. He stares and smiles a bit.

"What?" Me.

"Please, don't tell me we're worrying about another ex." Rose.

She begins to push at the cart and walks along. "Oh, whoever he is, fuck him, Bella. You hide from no one." I try to catch up with her but almost run into her ass as she crouches. She stops. We both stop.

"Carmen Jimenez?" Both of us.

The woman in hoop earrings and a tall ponytail reaches his cart and dumps a big box of diapers. She's pissed. She's telling him something, a lot of things, _everything_. She points at his face and dumps another item wedged under her pit. People look back and stare. He looks tense. His jaw muscles tight but he keeps his lips sealed as she unloads herself and more of her shopping items.

She yells about responsibility and carrying his weight in "this relationship."

Faintly, I hear him answer, "I'm here, aren't I? What else do you want me to do?"

This time, more people look up when she yells at him to be a man. The baby starts crying. Carmen is louder with her yapping. He tries to calm both screaming females. He picks up the defenseless one and cradles the bundle over his shoulder. Carmen just seethes to deal with her as she walks away. He follows behind. His full attention on the hiccuping infant sucking on his thumb.

"He has a kid… with her?!" I ask no one. I turn to Rose. "Wait, how do you know her?" She doesn't answer. Her eyes follow the happiest, go-lucky family in Target with dark, angry eyes.

She does have a lot of friends. I guess she would know many around town in her age range. And they're all marrying or having babies.

"Huh," is all Rose says once they're out of sight. She pushes the Target cart hard and fast. I follow her, dumbfounded, still processing. Ryan is a father. I instantly feel horror for the baby. She has an awful human being for a dad. From the looks of it, so is the mom. I sure as fuck never saw that side of her while we were working together at the previous Local. The memory of her at the door when we were door knocking comes to mind. She never seems this crazy.

"Let's go. I have to get home," Rose says exasperatedly over her shoulder. "My day just got real busy and I just got real damned tired."

Her face pale. Her lips a tinge of blue. I let the subject go and hover, asking if she's alright. I do get a bit too dramatic. I tend to do that a lot when troubles come. I shake it off and I focus on her. I help her pick out more clothes and snacks for the weekend. I send her to the car and I do all the heavy lifting to the trunk. She waves me off time and again on the ride home every time I ask if she's OK.

Emmett's reply back to my text is pictures of diamond rings when we get home. He's fast. I let the moment entertain my confused filled brain and help him find more options. Rose, none the wiser, but quiet and thoughtful. Kate is the only one who feeds my awe in this dirty, dirty gossip I just witnessed at Target. This horrible man, tamed by an untamed crazed woman. We die laughing about it for hours.

…

It literally takes Emmett a week to find the cut and propose at a brunch in Cape Cod. We decided to go together that Saturday. We helped Emmett plan it all to the dot. Serrano stands by me and mom watching him kneel on one knee by the dock. He shows her the gleaming hunk of a rock. She cries and nods after looking over at me. I wink. Kate cries on John's shoulder behind me.

If Rose can take the name of a man she didn't plan to fall for so deeply, I can surely accept the changes in my life. I grab onto Serrano's hand and accept. He looks down at me. His fingers tighten around mine.

I take him to the airport the next day knowing something has changed. He'll go to Seattle to work and be back. Maybe then he'll kiss me like he did when he left, and maybe then it can go further and I won't be so tense. I walk around with a smile on my face for a week. This ease in my heart I can't contain.

I'm moving on.

...

* * *

 **A/N:** More this week to get this going. Life has been happening so, I know I'm slacking, but also re-writing a bit. Thanks for the feedback. I do take it in consideration when re-writing! Hearts.


	20. Chapter 20 - Ticket

**Chapter 20 - Ticket**

Emmett stands in the middle of the room. I'm leaning on my office door. We talked about what he'll say already. I always leave him to do the speeches.

"We'll need some volunteers to go to New York and work on a new established Local. It'll be a few months work so it's moving in temporarily."

Kate and John raise their hands before a few others do. Everyone laughs. Emmett looks at me. "That could actually work. Anyone else who raised their hands can go in intervals to help out with specific projects. There's loads to do, so don't worry."

The team meeting breaks. He walks towards me. "Are you sure you don't want to go?" I shake my head. My heart skipping a beat just thinking of it.

"Who will stay here for the others? Besides, Rose needs help and mom is just feeling better, but I still have to help her with doctor appointments. So…" I trail away. He nods.

"Whatever. Those sound like excuses." He walks away with a grin. I don't care. No way in hell am I going to New York. Serrano will be back and I'll be here when he does. I'm kind of excited. This is all new.

I watch Kate go and I already miss her, but it's like a getaway with John. A nice vacation. I'm kind of jealous, but they deserve it. They take a flight to fit all of their things in luggage, so I make it a day to help and go with them to the airport. I have to pick up Serrano in a few hours anyway. It works out.

While I'm sitting at a cafe after they leave, my phone buzzes and something terrifying happens at the same time. I pick up my phone off the counter and see that it's a text from Serrano, then I hear my name being called. I look up and all of my insides tense up.

"Ryan," is all I can say. He's standing there with a bag over his shoulder. His clothes are neat as always, hair slicked back. His eyes travel from my toes to my hair. But those eyes of his are sunken and dark.

"Still lovely as I remembered," he murmurs. He takes a step. I leave my chair and take a step back, heart pounding. He lifts a hand. "I won't get any closer." He grins.

"What do you want?"

His brows knit. He shakes his head. "Nothing I... just wanted to know how you were?"

"Fine. Great. My boyfriend will be here any second." He looks around. He nods.

"Masen is here?" My stomach plummets. Of course, he'd think it would be him. I shake my head. "Ah, so that didn't work out?" he asks. "Well, I'm surprised. He'd watch you like a hawk."

"With good reason. Lots of sick people around wanting to do perverted things." He looks away.

"Touché, but well deserved. I'm sorry. I just… I saw you here and I just wanted to apologize for all the harm I've done. God knows I'm paying for all my bullshit now," he says with a heavy sigh. He fidgets.

I wait. I won't ask but I'd really like to know.

He continues to speak. "I, uh, was under house arrest for... another incident. Then rehab. Now I'm paying child support for a kid I can't even see. It drains my bank account more than I make." He chuckles humorlessly. "I'm going west for a job, no one will hire me here." He looks at me finally. "I don't tell anyone this, but I guessed you'd be happy to know. My life is a mess because of really dumb life decisions."

"Good. You permanently made a mess of mine. I could rip you to pieces right here, right now, for your 'dumb life decisions.' A maimed, dick-less Ryan is what the world needs." I snap. It's automatic. He looks surprised.

We silently listen to a crowd of people walk around us. He looks away, but I keep a good eye on him.

I shake my head. "But, it doesn't make me happy. I just hope you learned your lesson and try to live healthy and well." I'm too good. Kate would be scratching his eyes out. But maybe a scene at the airport isn't such a good idea.

"Goodbye." I finish this conversation. He straightens from where he leans. He grows red with shame. That makes me breathe easy.

"It was nice seeing you. I'm happy you're doing well. And I hear Masen is also—has a different gig now. That's… great."

"I wouldn't know. I haven't seen him in nearly a year." I take my bag, ready to make a run for it.

He nods. "Goodbye, Bella."

"Yup." I walk away. My hands tremble. I grip my phone and walk down towards the exit. I finally look at my text and Serrano won't be coming in today. He was transferred to L.A. last minute until further notice. He doesn't send another message or calls. Great. Fucking awesome day.

I go home and have an off day running the entire thing in a loop in my head. I should've said more. I should've spit in his face. But, it's not worth it. He'll pay for all he's done and more through life struggles. What I shouldn't wonder about, but I do, is what other _gig_ is Masen doing? How would Ryan know that? That, more than anything, gets my brain going. It becomes a scratching disc looping the same melody of torture.

...

I'm helping Rose with the extra room. The walls were freshly painted in taupe and light shades of yellows. We just came back from the biggest shopping spree one could have for an infant. Emmett is building the crib as mom hems the curtains in the kitchen. The apartment is all a buzz and exciting. My heart light and calm even though Serrano has disappeared. It's been two weeks since he first told me he wouldn't be flying in and since then I've only gotten one text. He's super busy and can't get a break. I stop caring. The excitement here is enough to keep me occupied. I fold blankets and tiny onesies and put them in baskets to store in the closet. But, I make sure to sniff them before I fold every article.

"Can you stop smelling the outfits. You're so weird." Rose is sitting back folding as well. Only she has the bump as a convenient shelf to lay them on.

"Whatever," I say. "I can almost smell the baby's neck already. God, I'm gonna be the coolest aunt." She rolls her eyes.

"The only aunt."

"Kate would resent that," I defend. Emmett laughs from the floor.

"How is Kate?" Rose asks. Emmett looks up and looks away quickly. The parts of the crib segmented in his hands.

"Umm, fine. Two projects are underway." He clears his throat. "But they need help."

I look up. "Already?" He nods. "Well, get someone else in there. There were lots of volunteers. I can talk to my team."

He shrugs and looks over. "That could work."

"That could not work," Rose interjects. Emmett nods slowly, thinking.

"Yeah, that can't work," he says.

I chuckle. "Why? Seems fine to me."

"No, uh… too early. They need to finish up here before they go. Plus, it's not something they'll know how to help with. Kate and John need… someone with experience."

Mom walks in with fabric bundled in her arms. "Then send Bella, she can go." I scoff and laugh.

"Why? Emmett would be perfectly fine as help. You don't have to supervise much anymore these days. I have to watch people at work from screwing up our whole system."

He shrugs. "That's true. I could go."

"No, you cannot go." Rose, again.

"What is your deal? Why are you shooting down all of his ideas?"

She glares at me. "I will not have him leave when the baby is about to come. I'll kill him if I'm giving birth and he's taking a bus home," she snaps.

"Ok, geesh. I get it." God, she's a psycho with the raging hormones.

"So, it's settled. Bella will go for you." Mom says as she reaches up to hang a curtain.

"Ok, but you have to go tomorrow," he says. "Sorry."

Everyone goes about their business but I'm left with a storm brewing in me. How did it work out like this? I promised myself I wouldn't go.

I go home and pull out my luggage from the closet. As I sort through underwear and shirts I stop and have a nervous breakdown on my bed—and that comes in a form of chips I stuff my face with while my eyes dry out from staring at a wall.

I go through spurts of freak outs while reruns of _Friends_ plays in the background as I pack. Once in awhile, I stop to pick up my phone to call Emmett and quit. Though, all I remember is Rose's terrified face and her huge bump about to pop. I have to grow a pair and grow the fuck up. No one will protect me from getting hurt. I'm on my own.

Emmett buzzes the door downstairs the next morning. He's nice enough to take me. I get in the car and don't say a word all the way to the bus station, or so I think it's the bus station. He parks at the airport and shows me the ticket upgrade.

"I thought I'd make it easier since you didn't have a choice in this." He hands it over and looks at me. "Anything happens, call me. I'll go get you. I mean it, I'll drive over and pick you up." I pause in the passenger seat.

He leans over and pops the door open for me. He unbuckles my seatbelt, too and literally pushes me out. "You'll be fine." He waves. He drives off.

I'm left with my mouth ajar and a ticket to hell. I definitely cry in the plane's bathroom. How the hell did this all happen?

...


	21. Chapter 21 - New York

**A/N: Been sick at home for three days. Hurling my guts out, blind with pink eye on both eyes (!). Perfect for writting, right? Here we go...**

 **Chapter 21 - New York**

Kate is all smiles when she sees me. She runs and jumps on top of me. We nearly tumble to the floor. We rush out of the airport and straight to lunch where John awaits.

Kate sighs contently in her spaghetti strapped dress. It's warm out on the patio of a cafe.

"Isn't it great here? I fucking love New York!" she shouts. John smiles and just shakes his head at her antics. But she's right. They look great here, in their element.

I look around and listen to the sirens and people walking about. The streets are alive and everyone's in a rush. But it's exciting and contagious. I begin to calm down. Maybe I needed this trip and Kate's company.

It's Saturday, so it's perfect to come into this with nothing to do but find adventure. John is sweet as he holds Kate's hand while we walk around town. We visit Time Square and watch a show that night. Their treat. I sit in the theater. The lights illuminate the detailed set as the actors run about shouting lines. I feel this rush of excitement and rejuvenation, thinking anything can happen in this city. If you have an obscure dream, it could be realized on these streets. No wonder no one ever leaves.

We walk back to our hotel at midnight. The streets are lit as if it were noon instead. Music pours out of nightclubs we pass by. Restaurants bring orders out into the night where patrons sit smoking cigarettes outside on patios. I'm exhausted but I don't want to sleep. I want to go where crowds are and get lost in them.

Kate and I walk arm in arm. She nods towards a line forming for a bar. I walk towards it without a thought.

She laughs. "Alright, Bella. The night is young!" She bounces on her heels and we get in line. I take an inventory of my outfit. We puff out our bra, apply lipstick and heavier eyeliner while we wait. I lower my jean's waistline and pull off my bomber jacket, just a tank under I tie in a knot. My metal necklaces swing over my chest.

"You look like a fucking local." She chuckles. I scoff but I feel a rush of excitement.

The music is loud and the crowd is piled in. We slither towards the bar and find a nook to stand in. John finds an acquaintance, so he's close by talking. Kate and I just catch up on life. Her loud laugh taking up half the cacophony of the room. Too many shots and very large drinks. We dance with strangers and hang with local college students. They're young, energetic and exhausting. I'm welcomed in New York like I've lived here for years with dancing, heavy petting and sharing drinks with gorgeous men.

My head hits the bed. I don't know what time it is, but the light of morning is coming up and Kate smiles beside me. We share a bed while John happily spreads out in their room. The last thing I remember is her contagious giggles, just like old times.

"You'll be just fine, baby doll," she says and falls asleep. I don't know what she means, the crazy bitch mumbles and slurs everything, but I'll take it. I believe her drunk ass.

...

"Are you listening?" Kate shouts beside me. I cover my right ear. The shades John let me borrow are too dark for this indoor diner.

"What the fuck, Kate? Keep it down. Shit."

"You might want to give her an hour or two. It's your fault she's like this." John speaks up. I love him. I want to hug him.

Kate sighs and slaps paperwork for this week in front of her. She's trying, but failing, to introduce me to work issues they've encountered. It's Sunday—no, and least of all with this headache. Who was I kidding? New York is a hole you fall into and can't crawl out of.

"Fine. I'll tell Emmett how productive you're being."

I sigh. "Tell him. It was his idea I come here anyway," I mutter. "Why _am_ I here? Christ."

"Why wouldn't you want to come?" I tilt my head and give her a look. "Oh. Well, fuck him. It's not his city! He doesn't own it."

"Shh... would you be quiet? Jesus. I think all of Central Park heard you from here."

She rolls her eyes. John puts his coffee cup down. "Who, Masen?"

I grow red. Shit. Now we're talking about this? Kate looks at me sheepishly.

"Well, maybe you should hear him out." He shrugs. Kate nods but looks away, stuffs her nose in her coffee cup.

I glare at them as they shrink in their booths. "What is this? An intervention? I don't want to talk about it."

John raises a hand and nods. "I get it. I'm just saying..." Kate reaches over to grab his hand so he'll stop. "No, I'm telling her. This is ridiculous." She freaks and grunts between her teeth. He looks at me. "He's changed... you know, he's different."

"He's a different person in just a couple of months? Very impressive," I spit.

"It's been a lot more than a couple of months and you know that," he says. "All I'm saying is, just hear him out." I roll my eyes behind the shades.

"I don't care. I don't want to see him. You two have no idea what went down between us. At all. You don't know what you're talking about. I expect more from you," I say, jabbing Kate. "Please, leave me alone. Now give me those stupid papers and tell me everything." I end it there. They're wide-eyed and sheepish.

The waitress arrives with stacks of pancakes and Kate gets to yabbering about work to break the tension. John just watches me the entire time. This frown on his face like he failed and I need mental help. He's such an observant fucker. I ignore him.

I get to reading the loads of paper Kate brought along and see the disconnect fairly quickly. There has to be a shift in management for the team and hire a new lead organizer, then they'll have enough to spread out and campaign more efficiently. They can take on more projects at once. It's so obvious I point it out with knitted brows. Kate just shrugs it off saying she really didn't see it and stuffs her face with pancakes. I'm starting to think this was a waste of my time coming here. Whatever. I sit back for the ride, do some new hiring this week and jet out of here in time for Rose's birth.

I pick up my fork and listen idly about our schedule for the day from Kate the Neurotic Organizer: a Central Park stroll, a stop at a famous bakery, visit shops on 5th Ave., and meet up with the team for dinner later tonight.

I'm already exhausted and we haven't started. My goal is to fade into the background while I watch these two go about their city honeymoon.

I find an adorable silver plated baby rattle and spoon in Saks Fifth and decide to buy it for Rose. It would look cute with the trinkets on the shelves in the baby's room. Mom and Rose get cashmere scarves and bracelets. Emmett gets nothing for putting me through this.

For me, though, I fiend for these fuck awesome Jimmy Choo heels. Kate badgers and badgers to live a little. So, I grab them and the salesperson takes them straight to the register. When I'm good and broke we get to the hotel to get dressed. I walk around the room with the heels on in my underwear, while I brush my hair, do my makeup, and sit on the bed to stare at the TV for a while. If it were acceptable, I'd wear them in the shower.

Dinner with the team goes so well I'm tempted to move here by tomorrow. What is it about New York at night that makes you want to make permanent life changes?

They're so down to earth and passionate. Some are artist or actors trying to make it in the city—good looking young blood. Most were born and raised in New York and have the best accents and attitudes about life and their community. I easily see them becoming leaders or Senators in their future. I'm kind of jealous. I never had a speck of ambition straight out of college. We eat and drink at a lounge and hop around bars they recommend after. Everyone is like family.

However, there's a special someone in the group. A man—and man is this man special. Townsend is his name and Townsend is a looker. He's observant and lingers when everyone goes off in clusters to mingle or dance. I sit here in a black dress and my new lucky pumps—those red soles bright as money, wedged on a bar stool under my one ankle bracket and wrap dress. It makes my heart soar. I cross my legs and I'm poised like the faker that I am. I don't know what it is about him that makes me want to impress him, but I channel Rose and her graceful mannerisms to do so.

His salt'n pepper hair and 5 o'clock shadow frames a chiseled face. He's caramel in a steel blue button up and slacks that fit him like I'd envision wrapping myself around a man his type—fitted and willing. There are enough buttons undone down his shirt to show his neck and chest. His Adam's apple leads the way. Toned arms plump the short sleeves just right.

I try not to stare into his dark eyes or anything below his waist. I swear, I'll get lost in miles of legs if I do. So, really, I just have from his nose to chin for focusing since everything else is... dangerous. I listen intently to what he says. It's ease, smooth and intellect. I take repeated sips from my drink and lean heavy on the bar. God help me.

He smiles. He says, "Hello." That's just about all it takes. I'm rapt.

He's one of the lead organizers and much older than the rest of the group. He's done a variety of jobs, like speech writing, teaching, and producing for a big network. Forget about all the traveling. I don't know why he'd ever want to be part of a Local. I salivate, yet feel completely out of his league.

Kate has her watchful eye on me. She looks with wide eyes full of questions and judgment when I take drinks he buys for me. I narrow my lids at her and look away.

"To think, I wasn't going to make it tonight," he says to me.

"Oh?" I follow the flush up my neck with the tips of my fingers discreetly. I straighten in my chair. _"_ Why's that?"

He shakes his head. "A guy's gotta do his laundry, run some errands before the week starts. But laundry can wait." He nods. He looks at me from feet to brightly lit eyes. "Laundry is the least of my worries when there's a lovely woman from Boston accompanying me."

I laugh. I try not to do it hard. Oh, damn, this man. I wave a hand. The motion gets me a nice whiff of his enticing cologne.

I shrug. "Gotta get your eggs, milk, and butter. It's important. It's what I'd be doing right now back home." I pause on that. "Actually, more like thinking really hard on making the trip to the grocery store, but really, watching reruns, eating chia seeds on crackers and cradling the last of the vodka bottle because it's all that's left in the kitchen."

He watches me carefully.

"No? Just me?" I ask nervously. He breaks into a laugh. I was sure that would send him running but he leans in like he's trying to figure me out.

"Right now, there's nothing I'd like more than crackers and vodka. You'll have to invite me sometime."

"Trust me, it happens regularly. Who knows, you might witness olives on crackers instead. Those nights are exceedingly special."

I watch the sexiest lines form around his plump mouth and perfect teeth as he cackles heartedly. And fuck, I'm screwed. So screwed.

Just as he's about to tell me if he's traveled with his wife or girlfriend (aka my subtle way of asking if he's single—I surprise myself), Kate pounces.

"So, it's late," she nods. "Do you want to get out of here?"

I look at the clock. It's 9:30. "Um, no," I give her a grin. This is just getting to the good part.

She glances at Townsend and smiles. She turns to me giving him her back. "Well, we have to work tomorrow so, I thought it might be nice if you got your rest."

"Thanks, mom, but don't you worry." I bop her arm with a fist a bit hard. She rubs it with a hand discreetly. Townsend pushes a laugh through his nose. John steps behind her and grabs her shoulders.

"Maybe we could, you know, walk to the other place down the street. There's this really great bar on the other side of town the team is itching to go before we end the night."

"Another bar?" Kate complains. John leans in and catches her ear between his teeth.

"It's on the way to our hotel, we'll be closer," he murmurs. She perks up suddenly.

"Yup. Let's go." She grabs her purse and mine. I raise a brow.

"Allow me," Townsend says as he steps in and grabs my elbow gingerly. He escorts me out by the small of my back. Kate looks over her shoulder at the gesture as we walk out. John nudges her towards the door and tells her something in her ear. She looks away. Her face set with worry. I get angry and make a note to tell her off later.

The entire team lingers behind to settle their tabs, so we get a good head start. And I love it. We walk behind John and Kate arm in arm, after slipping his hand in mine. I enjoy it and accept. We take our time.

Townsend is telling me about this village he visited in Cambodia years back and the bright-faced children he interacted with. They impacted his life so much it turned him to community service in New York since he couldn't stay. I dreamily listen to every word the ridiculously, cliched, perfect, cultured man would say. Things I'd roll my eyes at on any given day, but I'm buying every word with a stupid smile on my face.

A block down, Kate and John pause on the sidewalk waiting up for us to catch up. I roll my eyes at her, though I notice she's fidgeting. We reach their side. I look at her and her face is illuminated with a glow from an entrance fluttered with people on the sidewalk. She would look picture perfect if it wasn't for her knitted brows and the gnawing of her lip. I'm about to ask what's wrong when she leans in and grabs my free hand.

"Bella, I'm... I'm sorry but I had to show you. I couldn't keep it to myself."

I tilt my head and take a step. Townsend's fingers slip off mine leaving my hand vacant and tingling. My focus is on her. My heart picks up.

"What?" I ask. But all she does is looks up towards the bright building to my left. When I look I don't know what I'm seeing. It takes a moment.

The familiar feeling sets in. That warmth in my chest I used to get, a nostalgia settles instantly. I take a step, Kate follows closely behind. Maybe to catch me if I fall. I get why she'd want to because suddenly, I can't feel anything.

The gallery is flooded with people and music. Red ropes line the sidewalk to keep pedestrians from invited guests. Flashes of camera lights go off where guests pose in formal wear. The trendy lounge inside is lit like morning, brightening a floor to ceiling photograph of me.

 _Me_.

I'd know that image anywhere. I know how I felt when he clicked the shutter that very second. I was dreaming of him and wanting him to come to bed.

The lines are blurred and wistful. The dark shadows are deep, bleeding into the abstract curves and tones of my bare legs and hips. Skin looking like sand, molded into soft shapes. The round of a breast just peeking under a bent arm like the peak of a desert dune. My hair, sprawled like vines in black and white, caught by the candle lights he placed by the bed that night. My face is off frame, but it looks like a breathing landscape.

"What is this?"

Kate curls an arm around my back and looks up along with me. "He's doing well, following his dream... and you've helped him get here. We... he wanted to show you."

I take a tentative step, so does Kate. She watches me intently. I look at her and then look back. John is sheepish, rubbing his neck uncomfortably. Townsend stands silent, staring at the image and then at me.

I move. I walk ahead of them and push past people and the bouncer. I barely hear ruckus behind me where they argue at the door with the tall, built man. Kate comes rushing in.

The farther I walk in the more installations appear in other rooms. They are bright, growing darker through the expedition. A maze of skin. Some in color, most in grayscale tones.

I pace through the wooden floors, stretching my neck, staring up above or down below at smaller pieces. My body in every shape and form. Perspectives so ominous I linger in front of some to observe the lines. That one was of us. We were on the couch. But there is no couch. It's a tight frame of two bodies skin to skin, you don't know where one ends or begins. The camera must've been on the coffee table. I barely remember that detail, many details of that day.

Some I don't remember at all, but they are clearly the best shots. My fingers skim my lips in awe because surely, this one in front of me isn't what I believe it is. I glance around me, suddenly feeling vulnerable, exposed. An angle in such a way that if I wasn't present that day with him, I wouldn't know what it is. But I do and it's beautiful. The close up is like a Georgia O'keefe in shades of gray and black. His fingers visible, close by. I grow flushed. I rub my neck feeling a rush of memories. My muscles weakening just seeing his hand.

Kate doesn't falter in catching up as I sail through the corridors. She's silent, giving me space far behind. At times, I want to turn and tell her we should leave, but I'm mostly too flushed to face her. I keep stepping around other people observing, taking in images of me. I make a veil with fingers through my hair to hide my face, but I keep going, I keep walking. I can't stop.

The theme is subtle but constant through each room I go through. As the lights dim my features are revealed more. Lips. Cheeks. Nose. Eyes last. The walls in shades of red grow darker.

The last room is the largest and pitch black. Once I enter, my steps falter. The walls seem to have burst with fluorescent colors over the black walls. There are free strokes and shapes like graffiti in bright yellows, greens, pinks and blues. It isn't a flat photograph on a wall. The composition in the frame was cut out and installed as flat standing sculptures. A crowd all surrounding one girl. She's looking up. And even though people around her are frozen in motion, she is still. The pillar in the center of a mosh pit.

It's me on the first night I met him. The concert crowd went wild and danced around me. I couldn't find Rose. I focused on the ceiling above and waited it out. It was that moment before he kissed me and said goodbye for the first time. I never knew he captured this moment. Now it's an explosion, a memory forever captured in time.

I touch one. It's like a maze to get to her in the center. Visitors are all around weaving through the sculptures. Their profiles and clothes glow with the colors. Their awed faces the same.

My cheeks are streaked. I can't hold back tears. I have to leave. I can't be here. I quickly make my way through corridors, back to the beginning where the lights are bright as morning. Kate is suddenly nowhere to be found. I stand by a wall and try to spot her. But instead, I spot him.

A pang in my chest.

Masen has his back to me. A cluster of people in black attire stands around him. He looks disparate in a crowd. The dress jacket fits sharp over his shoulders. His slacks and shoes are pristine under a dark knitted sweater. This time, his shoes fit him just right, not awkward or worn, but perfect. He looks older, calm, settled, and sophisticated. He's... different.

He nods and shakes hands with his free one, the other holds a champagne glass. He juggles it to run a few fingers through his hair. Even his hair is cut purposefully. No strand left cropped imperfectly on his head.

As he is praised and worshiped, my insides stir. Maybe anger. I don't know. He's moved on and is well without me, but using me to do so in this grand affair.

I make to leave before he sees me. A stranger bumps into me. He excuses himself and looks at me once, twice. He glances at the giant photo behind me and back.

"The subject," he says. He nudges the person he's with. I step around them.

"Oh, such a fan of yours already!" the other says. She grabs my forearm firmly and smiles. There are others that overhear. Like burning fields, it spreads. There's a buzz in an instant. They all stare.

I look for a way around them, but it's no use. Someone utters " _Edward_ " from afar. I panic. I look around to find somewhere to hide. The crowd gets dense and Kate's too short for me to spot over heads.

He turns at the call. It doesn't register straight away, but when it does I have his full attention.

"Bella," he mouths to himself. His eyes taking me in. I grip my trench coat around my chest and try to escape through gaps of tall shoulders. People just make a way, the circle widens. My heart is pounding. I glance back. He pushes his drink at someone and breaks into the circle.

"You're here." He's in a daze. His steps slow but he doesn't stop until he's near. Just one hand extends towards me. I stare at it. He lets it drop and balls his fist. My eyes travel over unfamiliar faces, every one of them staring back. Camera flashes go off, making me blink. I glare at him, his new self... his new everything, looking better than I've ever remembered. I take one good look for the last time and push my way towards the door.

"Wait," he begs. But I don't, this is too much. The brisk night air envelops me. I take a breath but it catches at my throat. I can barely breathe. Kate barges out of the doors behind me in a rush. She apologizes profusely.

"I couldn't find you," she says. I shake my head not able to speak. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought you here. I'm so sorry."

Townsend comes close and holds my hand. I grip it tight or I'll fall. His arm curls around me and I try to breathe instead of pulling away.

"Let's go." John leads the way. Masen storms out of the gallery. He calls out my name. I quicken my steps but he's fast.

Townsend steps in between us.

 _Fuck. No, no, no._ I turn back ready to pull his arm.

"She wants to be left alone," he says and he's right. Right now, tomorrow, forever. I want out of this. But all I see is Masen from over the other's shoulder, sizing him up, furrowed brows, lips parted. He glances at Kate. "Who's this?" He rolls his thumb Townsend's way. She's speechless. Her hand goes to his chest. "Who the fuck are you?" He turns to him with an angry nod of his head.

"I'm the one taking her home. If you'll excuse us," Townsend spits back. Masen looks down at our joined hands. I cringe. I turn away and pull my hair at the crown of my head in mortification. Masen steps up to his face.

"Masen, please, calm down," Kate pleads. She pushes him back. John steps between them and lifts a hand.

"We're leaving," he says. "We shouldn't have come. I'm sorry."

"I wanted you to come. Bella, I wanted you here with me. Please..." Masen pleads. He pushes past both of them. They don't stand a chance, not with him. No one knows him like I do. He has never let anything stand between him and what he wants.

He grabs my wrist still linked to another man's hand. A bolt travels up, right through my bones. It rattles me. I look into his eyes. Fire.

"Let me explain," he says. A crowd of people gathers outside of the gallery to watch. A show. An act. This is mad.

I shake off both their hands and walk away. Screw everyone and their mischievous ways. Rose, Mom, Emmett and Kate—they've all planned this.

"Bella, please!" He chases after me. The words he always says when he's trying again. Trying to undo what he's done. Trying to lure me into his game. I can't take it. No more. I don't want to end up where I've been a thousand times with him before.

A cab pulls up around the block as if planned. I run for it before he catches up.

He sprints. I'm climbing in. He reaches in time. The door barely comes unhinged with his insistence. My stomach on the floor boards. My fists balled up. The cab lurches. The door slams shut. He runs. I follow him with wide eyes as he shuffles around the cab. Those eyes, those lips I once had, lit by the bright headlights up front. His palms splayed on the yellow hood. "Please," he shouts but not louder than the cab driver who yells for him to move. The car halts with every pounce on the brakes, but he doesn't relent. He watches me through the windows.

He argues with the driver. They yell and yell. One pounding fist on the hood and the older man threatens to call the cops.

"I'll have you committed, insane man!" The man shouts orders through a phone from his car.

Outside, a rolling wave of onlookers come by. John comes rushing in, then Townsend. They wrap themselves around Masen's torso.

"Bella, please. Please!" he says, fighting them off.

I bore into his eyes and shake my head infinitesimally, just so, enough to tell him everything without words. _I can't. I won't. I never will_. I need to be far away from here.

He's forced to let go, to move. The cab drives off leaving me shredded and watching through blurred lids. His chest heaving with each struggled breath. A mirror of my own pounding heart.

...


	22. Chapter 22 - Shoes

**A/N: I love you for your reviews last time. Your reactions mimic mine. Sighs for days. Here's more.**

 **Chapter 22 - Shoes**

I'm lying in bed but I'm anything but peaceful at sleep. The window curtain is wide open and I stare at the city below. I plan, I wonder how I can escape without Kate going after me. I can't call Emmett because I'm so angry at all of them right now. I couldn't even face them without becoming a raging lunatic.

How many times have they told me to move on and get over the heartache yet push me right into it again? I'm boggled.

The tears come rushing back but they're silent. They pour out so easy. For what? I don't know. Overwhelmed. Seeing myself in that light. Like a goddess in photographs.

But I feel nothing like it. Minuscule. Damaged. Angry at myself because I should've said something to hurt him. Anything. So he'd feel what he made me feel. Would that have felt better? I don't know. All I know is tears spill because of this reality—that feeling of how much I've missed him stormed back. My friend. The one man I've felt 100 percent just standing by him. Yet, he didn't want it. Seeing him so well just confirms how stupid I've been to want it back so badly.

Would that have felt better? I don't know. All I know is tears spill because of this reality—that feeling of how much I've missed him stormed back. My friend. The one man I've felt 100 percent just standing by him. Yet, he didn't want it. Seeing him so well just confirms how stupid I've been to want it back so badly.

All I know is tears spill because of this reality—that feeling of how much I've missed him stormed back. My friend. The one man I've felt 100 percent just standing by him. Yet, he didn't want it. Seeing him so well just confirms how stupid I've been to want it back so badly.

Kate knocked the door for five minutes before she gave up. My phone has been blowing up. Mom. Rose. Even Emmett. None from Serrano. I ignore them all.

It's morning and not a moment of rest took over this body of mine, the one in display in Manhattan. Eyes on me. The shadows. The shapes. I never knew I could look so...

I don't know what to do with myself. But I do know I need coffee.

I dress and pull on my trench coat. I've officially kept John's shades and wear them again. I leave the hotel room and Kate is standing at the wall right by it. Of course. I rest on a wall across from her.

"I'm sorry," is the first thing she says. She looks like hell. She reaches over and pulls the shades off my face. "Jesus." I snatch them back and cover up the blocky, puffy eyes. Hers aren't any different.

"Of all people, I expected a lot more from you," I tell her. She nods.

"Of all people, you would be the one I'd expect to tell me the truth if I was in your shoes. I wasn't going to keep it to myself." She shakes her head. "Not this. No way. Too good. The plot thickened on your Hallmark movie."

I know it's true. I'd kill her if she never told me. My nose grows red again. I gnaw at my lip. Perfect sign I'm keeping more tears at bay. She leans in and kisses the red. One hug and I know we're good.

"Bitch, you're buying me coffee. And a fucking croissant. Toasted."

She nods on my shoulder. "Better yet, some drinks. Lots of tequila."

"OK." We stay stuck together. "So, everyone knows." I deadpan. She nods on my shoulder.

"Your sister, she planned it all. You can thank her, or kill her, whichever. Just not me. I'm just the messenger. She called, I found out the details. I did what was needed."

I don't respond. I figured as much. I knew what was going down at Rose's house. I just didn't want to accept, believe... hope.

"I saw your vaj in black and white. I can't unsee it. Punishment enough," she confesses.

"I have to see yours now, it's only fair," I say. We agree to that and break apart.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

She shakes her head. "As if you would've come." I roll my eyes. "Speaking of being honest. He's not going to let it go now that he knows you're here. You know that, right?" She lifts a trimmed brow. "So, heads up, he's downstairs and probably will be until you talk to him." I sigh and nod, thankful she told me.

"I'll wait for you by the elevator," I tell her.

"Yup." She goes to her room to dress for work and comes back out. John is already at the office.

The elevator dings and with it, my heart speeds up. I don't want to see him but I know that awful place deep in the back of my aching heart I yearn to—and it really angers me.

The doors from the elevators part and I tell myself I'll look down at my feet and nothing else. That isn't the way it goes. I set eyes on him instantly and I can't look away. That's how it is.

He quickly stands from a lobby chair and stuffs his hands in his pockets. That anxious look on his face, pale with worry. I guess no one slept last night.

He wears a button-up under a relaxed sweater. Rolled up sleeves taunt me with those arms I've always loved and grabbed onto when he'd whisper softly in my ear. His fitted pants are cuffed perfectly over brown dress shoes that are so clean it infuriates me.

Who is this person?

What has he done while we've been apart?

He takes a few steps but only orbits an invisible circle around me. I walk right past him. He stays. His gaze follows and his hands make fists after I come close and pass by. They were ready to, what? Hold me? Touch me?

That angers me even more.

I want to yell _'What did you expect?'_ But instead, I say, "Not yet." I make my way to the revolving door. Kate is behind me. I see the reflection in the windows when she pats his arm as she passes. Traitor.

We go to work and I hide from others in a conference room, especially Townsend. I have to meet with him today but I cancel it. I schedule for the next day. It will be strictly professional, no doubt. I'm so over good looking people and the temptation. I'm a damned Director, for crying out loud. Games end here.

When I do see him around the office, I get butterflies in my stomach. I can barely look at him. Fuck, he's gorgeous. He smiles warmly and brings me a coffee midday. He says nothing else, no comments of a crazy man at my heels, none about what happened, or who he is. He leaves me be. Fucking perfect.

 _Fuck._

At the end of the day, I head straight to the hotel to sleep and maybe sulk on life. But no peace. Masen sits where I found him this morning. Different clothes, more like himself, but he came back. He stands. My stomach twists and turns like these revolving doors.

He looks at me intently, but he just orbits. He silently walks a few feet away from my side and watches me safely to the elevators. And it kills me.

Eyes already prickling, I force myself to keep nonchalant. He hits the button to the elevator for me when he reaches it first. He waits, pockets his hands. The doors slide open and I step in. The last I see of him are his furrowed brows, watching me.

"Sweet dreams," he says, and the doors softly close.

I want to yell _'Keep your damned sweet words,'_ but all I do is take them in. Savor them. I crawl into bed and see those lips saying them in dreams. Cold sweats. Waking. Over and over feeling the dread when my eye flutter open.

The week crawls. Every morning he's there and every morning I tell him, "Not today." I still haven't found the courage or the strength. He complies with a slight nod but walks with me. From the elevator to the exit and back. A routine.

Then, one morning it's different.

He steps out onto the street with me and follows along all the way to work. Quietly. Not a word from him. Blood boils in me.

I see it, stopping, yelling, letting the entire street hear me telling him to go away. But I don't because the clean shoes on his feet peek through at my periphery every step he takes. It's distracting. It angers me further. It's irrational and I don't understand it. They're shoes. Just shoes.

Fucking shoes.

The next day the same. I'm numb. He's patient. His presence... comforting, I guess.

No. Nerve-wracking.

New shoes today on those feet. I look at the tops of buildings this time. Far up. Where the air is thin and so is my patience.

The orbit wears out thin every day. His arm grazes mine once in awhile as we walk. It makes me wild. But nothing like Thursday.

No. Something special. Different.

The streets are crowded in the mornings. Taxis speed by, clearing pedestrian's toes. It's an overwhelming city. I don't see one coming, but he does. His hand catches my arm and pulls me back just in time. Others around us were almost run over. People shout and curse at the driver. I'm left silent and burning where he touches.

Maybe I could've died. Maybe I should've. This feeling.

His hand makes its way down to mine so quickly, I don't get the chance to react. He pulls me safely across the street. I try to let go of his hand once we've made it, but he has none of it. He tightens his grip and continues walking. I glare at him. I tighten my lids and daggers at that clean shave, lips, straight nose.

He's perfectly fine. This is a stroll down a sidewalk to him.

I sigh, or huff, whatever. I ball up my free hand, nails digging.

Kate has been getting to work earlier than me every day, but today she took a detour for the coffee shop up the street. I curse the last minute decision she made.

She's far but she sees us. Her eyes bug out at the sight of our joined hands between us. I glare at her to keep her mouth shut. She runs in through the doors before she bursts in a fit of giggles. I know she waits for me inside at the elevators.

I want to die.

Especially when his thumb caresses the back of my hand and squeezes gently. I'd like to gently rip him into pieces. But then that just sounds erotic.

I scream inside.

He lets go of my hand, but only after opening the door for me. I don't even look up at him. I walk right in.

"I don't want to hear it," I tell her the moment I reach her side. I adjust my bag over my shoulder and ignore the heat in my palm. "A taxi almost killed me. He was just..." Whatever, I'm not explaining anything to her.

"Uh huh. John saves me from taxis every morning." She tries to hide a smile but fails. She bounces slightly in place.

"Obnoxious," I spit.

"Romantic." She gives it right back. I hold myself back from pulling her hair as she gleefully bounces. Rip it off, tie it in a bow and present it to her. Probably too dramatic.

After work, he isn't there and not at the hotel the next morning. I try not to look for him when I step out of the elevator but I can't help it. I head to work telling myself to stop wondering if I finally drove him away. A dread in me. I hate it.

I meet with Townsend over lunch. I tell myself it's to get to know him as a lead organizer, but our conversations steer from work. We sit at a cafe and he tells me about his travels. His dream is to volunteer somewhere and find his real purpose. I make a mental note we'll probably need to hire another manager. It doesn't seem like he'll stick around long term.

He's gorgeous, but sitting here watching him talk about himself makes me antsy. I want to tell him to leave on the spot. He's charming and I stare for far too long.

I imagine this amazing affair if this week didn't go the way it has. Images of taking him right here on this table, maybe in a closet at the office. One fuck and I'm free. It would get Masen right out my system. Even better if he would watch me fucking him right out of my system.

I snort and pass it as a response to a joke Townsend makes. I'm definitely going mad. I pretend to listen, but It's difficult when the man you've cried over for months is just a few blocks away and invading your orbit every morning. I can't stop thinking about him. I look for him everywhere.

Kate and John stay late at work. I'm done with getting through resumes for the day, too many interviews that didn't fit. I grab my purse and head out. No sign of Masen anywhere. I cross the street alone and wander alone. I get a gyro from a vendor and eat that while I people-watch at Rockefeller center.

I'm a no one in a big city, I enjoy the solitude nonetheless. I check my phone and see long lists of text I never replied to. Mom has called nearly 50 times in the last couple of days. I feel guilty, but there isn't much I want to say just yet. I need a moment to be with myself.

Wandering turns me onto a familiar street. The gallery is in view. I don't hesitate, I walk down the sidewalk and pull on the doors to go in. The exhibition is still up. My images under a new evening light.

The woman behind the desk looks up and smiles. She allows me in, but her gaze follows me through in recognition.

This time, I'm calmer. I pace slowly around the rooms taking my time, hearing my footsteps echo on wooden floors. I stare at the ones I didn't dare to stand in front of. Since the gallery is empty it feels like I'm walking by mirrors. It's surreal.

I stand in front of one I don't remember seeing that night, or the moment it was taken. Our hands are twined. His larger one lays on a soft place, mine in his. My nails are bare like his but gentle. Every finger weaving through each down to thumbs. But it's a tight shot, the weaving makes it look abstract and like odd folds and curves of skin. It's beautiful. I dare to reach and touch the matted photo, digit by digit.

I move on or I swear I'll rip it off the wall and make a run for it.

I stop in front of a large piece that takes up the entire wall. In it, my collarbones and shoulders jut out. My head and arms are dipped back as the light of the windows in my bedroom crawled over the ridges of my rib cage. Soft round peaks fade under a shadow. It's like an obscure Venus de Milo.

It's me but it isn't, it doesn't matter. I remember this one as if it were yesterday. The soft pinks and reds revealing that morning—the last. His love making just off frame. On his back, he took the shot but no one would ever know that. God, I hope not. Many gathered around this one that night as I walked by. I see why. It's... breathtaking.

I sit for a while on a bench and stare at it, wondering if I'd be able to make it farther than five feet, let alone out the door with this one. I want them all.

The evening sun dips by the time I stand and stretch. I wander into the last room—my favorite one. I can't hold back the prickles behind my lids. His perspective of me from the very beginning is daunting.

I stand at the end of the room where all the pieces visually come together to make a seamless image. A blissful girl lost in a chaotic world. It's how I've felt most of my life. Not really fitting in. Fitting myself into a mold that wasn't for me. I pull out my phone and take a picture of it. This will go with me everywhere.

"What do you think?" A voice so close behind me utters the words. And with it goes my calm. The electric current travels through my body, limb to limb. I take my time responding.

"Honestly?" I ask.

"Always." I feel his eyes on me, tilting his head around my shoulder. Curious. Anxious to know.

"I'm wearing clothes here. So... why this one? It isn't consistent with the others." It's my turn to observe him as he looks away. I take the chance to stare at every hair out of place on his head, every muscle tensing under his jaw, his lips, eyelashes long enough to fan a cheek. I would know.

"Well..." Masen begins. I'm entranced. "You have a good eye. They fought me over this. I wanted it in. You see, it was the beginning of the rest. Without it, none of the rest would exist." He looks at me. "And who's to say you weren't completely naked in my eyes that night." He smirks faintly.

I shut my eyes briefly. I grin with a shake of my head. "Of course."

We stand here buzzing. Getting high off each other's orbits. Mine is crashing down in crumbling pieces by the second. I let it.

Then this comes out of my mouth. "I want to see where you live. You'll show me."

His eyes meet mine, hope brightening them. He says, "Now."

I shake my head. "Tomorrow. You'll make lunch. I'll bring wine. You'll get your chance to explain." He pivots his whole self to me. "But then, I'm leaving... for good." I end with that.

He shifts his gaze. His teeth catching the corner of his mouth like he does when he's torn. I've seen it. I've always watched it transpire with wonder. He finally nods.

"We'll see about that." The way he says it, straight-faced, with grit. It's a challenge. It's Irritating. The last time he said those words I ended up in front of his camera lens and on display for all of New York to see.

I hold my head up high. "We shall." I head for the exit, past the mirrors of me. No comment on those. I cannot. Of course, he follows. Silently. The presence of those giants on walls teasing us, tensing the air between us, making it hard to breathe.

His steps behind. Anxiety in me with each _thump, thump, thump_. Different shoes today to tear at me. I could run, but they'll chase after. That buzz I feel rolling off him. He'll chase until they're worn. I know it. He chases now. Probably watching these hips move towards the door. I know it. I know him.

Outside—after a smile and a farewell from the snitch at the front desk—he waves a taxi over for me. Before I can dip into the back seat, he opens the door for me and stands there, watching me. That look like burning coal. He wants to say something. I'm patient. I wait.

He side-steps and lets me in under the crook of his arm. He wedges me between door and car. He hasn't spit it out, but he reaches up, that hand slow in its advance. His fingers brush away strands of hair billowing around my face. I can't help it, I flinch at first. He pulls back but goes in again, fingers to flushed cheek. His eyes follow.

"You're here. I can hardly believe it," he whispers. I swallow thickly.

"It could've been long ago."

The stab so sharp he pulls away. He dips his head and stares at the ground.

"It's all very beautiful. Magical," I say about the photos behind him. "Congratulations."

I leave before I do something... like reach for his neck and squeeze the life right out of him. I look out the window and realize his anguish shows, no need, he's already suffocating.

...

* * *

 **A/N: The next will come sooner.**


	23. Chapter 23 - Lunch

**A/N: I lied. 'Soon' apparently meant two weeks. I will not say that again. Cross my heart. After this chap, I might have to re-write some things to figure out what will flow right. The original chaps before the ending doesn't suffice at this point. Of course, you can send suggestions, hate it or love it. Either way, I love you.  
**

 **Head over to Frannie's We love Mobward Contest on facebook for some great Mobward reads if you haven't read them yet. I wrote one and got some awards, thanks to the judges and readers. Love you all greatly. You can find that on my facebook page.  
**

 **Special thanks to Frannie for beta'ing this puppy last minute before she ran off to visit Counselor. ;-)**

* * *

 **Chapter 23 - Lunch**

Kate fussed with what I'd wear this morning. She was on my bed almost bouncing. I quickly told her to calm down, to bring it down a notch. This isn't going to be the ending to a Hallmark Movie. This will be the horror scene. The one where there's bloodshed and someone dies. I'm planning to walk out of there wearing blood-red and a satisfied smirk. It's why I wear my new lucky shoes and my black jeans. She agreed with that part at least.

This is a business transaction. He will tell me why; I will withdraw the closure, maybe deposit a jab or two to the throat and leave with a receipt. Kate rolled her eyes. "God, you make love depressing," she said. I do. I _am_ depressingly in love, or was, or wait...

My brain debated what that meant until the cab pulled up to a building. Masen had texted me the address and nothing else. Not that I was expecting more.

Suddenly, he pops the cab door open so quickly, as if I might tell the driver, 'Go, go, go!' And flee the country. I want to. The way he looks is enough to want to.

I just see his crotch area. Dark slim pants. The hem of his distressed black t-shirt just shy of revealing that taut belly. He reaches in, so I'll take his hand. We're a black-clothed couple of villains ready to cut, slice, and see red. I set the theme with red soles and lips. Soon it will spread.

His piercing gray eyes are ice as they scan over me, shoes to pulled-back ponytail.

"Always gorgeous." A faint smirk playing at his lips. He doesn't let go of my hand. I stare at it. I flash him a look from under my lashes. He steps back and tightens his grip. Not letting go, is he?

Round one.

The building is large and gray. Bricks and metal sightings surround high large windows. The street around it is a dump but I look up at the windows, some are open at an angle, some closed. They're all painted in black. The ceilings inside are crisp white, illuminated with large industrial bulbs shining throughout the interior.

He pulls me through a sliding door, closes it behind us. It's bright with natural light on dingy walls. Old sofas and tables line a large room. A bar is off to the side. All old and used. But the windows here are giant. They pour in sunlight making everything look vintage and picturesque. I can only imagine how the stars look here at night.

We reach an elevator, the kind that is loud and rattles like an old cage. He pulls me in and shuts a gate, then a vertical door. One button and we move, smooth and up. He leans on the wall under a shadow. He watches me. He's let go of my hand, thank God, but it only allows him to stand back and regard me like prints in a red room, observing them limb by limb, as they appear in a photograph. I glare right back. It doesn't bother him a speck. His lip turns up at the corner like he knows something. It nerves me, but I try my hardest not to show it. We're dancing around each other. He wants to play? Let's play.

The elevator stops. He pushes himself off the wall and works to get us out. I observe with great interest in case I need to run.

He goes ahead of me. He pushes another wide, tall door and it opens. He goes inside and leaves it ajar waiting for me.

When I do step in—slow and hesitant—I try to take in all of it at once. A large cement fireplace takes up one wall. A couch and a plush cream carpet right by it sit under squared windows. Some walls are coated with paint, others are piled bricks.

The kitchen is breathtaking. It's all connected, flowing in one large room. Cement countertops and a large island with metal, high top stools that match a large refrigerator. The glass cabinets are all bare. I can't help but wonder how it would look with mixers and cappuccino machines and cooking utensils in ceramic vases. Why am I mentally decorating? I scream inside.

I step into this giant loft, and he's nowhere to be found, but his shoes are by a wall. I look around. It's a different world when you walk in and look up at the opposite wall to the couch. To get to the studio, you must climb spiral steps to a half floor with opened umbrellas and crisp white backdrops for his camera equipment. These expensive looking gadgets are stark black; standing on tripods or old wooden crates. Things I never knew he had.

A wonderful life. Everything at his disposal. I should be happy.

All I do is feel a pang of resentment.

I pace the hardwood floors and stare out the windows. Even the view is amazing.

I grit my teeth.

I reel suddenly. He's untying the knot on my trench coat from behind me. He pulls the lapels open. I don't get a chance to protest. His fingers graze my neck, and he pulls it off my shoulders. Sparks fly the moment I feel his lips at my nape. One soft knee-buckling kiss.

I recoil.

"Let's get one thing straight. There will be no touching, not even an attempt. My knee. Your balls. Got it?"

He chuckles. I feel his breath there. "Straightened," he complies and steps away. "Just wish you wouldn't leave your neck lying around like that." I ignore his attempt at a joke and step around him.

Fucker.

Of course, he wouldn't play fair.

The kitchen island is laid out with a few plates and glass bowls. I pull out the wine from my purse and press it to his chest without a word. He takes it.

"Sauvignon Blanc," he pronounces it perfectly. He approves with a purse of his lips. "Rooted from the Bordeaux region of France," he says. He winks at me from behind the island. He rifles through the cabinet finding a corkscrew. I roll my eyes at his obnoxious smarts, not really caring if he sees.

I stare at the contents of lunch, and everything is so pretty. A wooden platter is spread out with cheeses of different kinds, prosciutto, roasted peppers, and olives. A baguette is cut into perfect diagonal slices next to a basil infused oil for dipping. The salad is dark greens with candied nuts and blue cheese over cubed fucking watermelons. To the right, there's a small, miserably adorable cake with chocolate shavings on top. I lean over to really see the small specks. _Is that gold leaf?_ I look up at him. Maybe if I dive over the island just right I could strangle him without disturbing the feast. Eat it all after, while I watch his shallow breaths.

He contently occupies himself with the twists and turns of the corkscrew.

"I always pegged you as a champagne enthusiast. I'm surprised," he says.

"Sorry. I didn't see a reason for celebration." I pop an olive into my mouth. He slows what he's doing and visibly goes a hint of pink. He's not happy. Well, good.

"Dig in," he says after a moment. He waves a hand. He leans in with the opened bottle in hand and begins to pour. He watches me as he does. He stops a quarter up the glass. I softly dip the spout with a fingertip until it's a heaping portion. His jaw flexes to keep from commenting.

I'll drink to that.

I grab a fork and eat. He just stands there twirling his utensil and sipping from his quarter. He stares out the window while occasionally picking on things.

It's fucking tense.

I know I'm being crass, but I can't help it. Seeing him in this light… I'd like to crush him. I try not to catch his eye when I look up, but I want to watch him in this light; the one coming from the wide windows. That warm glow that always suited him. I never thought he would be a trendy-loft-living kind of guy. He's a beer in a dingy bar, bedsheets for curtains in a dark room, and definitely a hoarder of books kind of person. He grew up. That guy I once knew in his Ché shirt, with occasionally buzzed-cut hair because it just bothered his ears, is long gone.

What's he playing at?

Who is he fooling?

I narrow these eyes and daggers fly his way. When he turns that tense jaw towards me, I look away. I curse the moment I suggested this in the first place. What is wrong with me? I glance at the door and it would take far too long.

"Don't even think about it," he whispers, breaking the silence.

I swallow my mouthful down slowly "What? Are kidnapping the 3D version of me now?"

He looks down at me over the rim of his glass. His eyes dark against the sunlight. He touches the glass to the countertop a bit too hard. "You gave me your consent." He's mad. Really? _He's_ upset?

"Hm." I roll the glass over my lip. "That part gets real fuzzy. Maybe I don't remember." I take a sip. He scorns.

Round two.

I don't wait for his response. I leave the feast behind and head for the spiral steps close by. He follows. He goes up two at a time to catch up.

I occupy myself with the equipment and walk over to a crisp white backdrop hung from a bar. "So this is where you capture your next victims? How many are there?"

He stands by a tripod, barefoot, in his most natural element. It's what he likes to do when he's home. His anger turned down, quiet. "None. Just you," he mutters.

I look back at him incredulously. He snaps a shot. I blink. Everything around me lights up.

"How did you get noticed?" I ask.

He coils the camera for the next shot. "I started working for a studio. Helped with sets. Met a few cool colleagues. They liked my work, so I showed them more. They introduced me to the right people."

"What about… all this?" I refer to the loft.

He blinks away. "Sam, the landowner of this joint, he offered it up. But I've gotta keep it maintained."

"Sam? Your mom's Sam?" I ask. He nods. He looks through a viewfinder, tweaks the lens. "You still see him?" I ask. His mother would be proud, grateful there's still someone there for him. Fuck, it warms my traitorous heart.

"He's great. I don't know what I'd do without him. He … wants to meet you."

"He knows about me?" I'm taken.

He looks up. "Of course." The room brightens up again when he clicks. I blink. "Who do you think helped get the exhibition up and running?"

"And then history," I finish saying.

"I already sold three. The profit is all yours." He looks up from where he is, gauging my expression.

I scoff. "I didn't ask for your money."

"But you came to destroy me. Is that what this is? I'm just being clear, you can have it all. I've always wanted you to."

See? That angers me, but all I can do is chuckle. My eyes cut to where he stands. "All? Even your dishonesty? Your disregard for … everything?" I ask.

He says nothing.

He looks away.

"Let's get another thing straight—I didn't come to you, you made me come to New York. To see… what? What did you want me to see? Your final laugh in my face? That you became all of this and wanted to show me what you have?

"Don't worry, Bella. _"_ I mimic him _. "_ I left, but look at how hard I thought of you. Let me show the entire world the stupid, pathetic girl I left behind." I point at my chest. "I didn't matter. But whatever gets your dream going, right? Just, fuck me in the process."

He's red and quiet where he is. His hands curled around a camera. Cracks and pops sound off as he tweaks this or that with those white-knuckled hands of his. His eyes are cast down, nostrils flared with anger.

I watch him for what seems like hours. He doesn't say anything. He doesn't look at me. This is exactly my point.

Suddenly, I feel so tired, so out of place. I'm standing here looking ridiculous with a glass in hand. What am I doing? What did I expect?

This moment feels final. I say it. "I'm done. You'll be hearing from my lawyer."

I march away and climb down the steps to go for my purse, but I'm not fast enough. My heart speeds up. He charges after me. The wine glass is slapped out of my hand. It flies. Glass explodes by a window. My feet are off the floor as he grabs me, up and over his shoulder. I instinctively fight but he's strong. I swing my arms and make fists. I connect with his back, anything. This fury in me. That vein on his forehead plump and angry, but his face is determined. I fight this out alone.

He throws me on the couch, and I kick and kick. He takes hold of the shoe I stabbed him with. He throws it across the room and grabs my other foot. The other flies into the fireplace. My vision is red. Blind to sense and sanity. I can't control myself under him.

He gets a good hold and shakes me. "Who are you?" he yells. I slap his arms away. He just locks his grip on me again, his face mere inches from mine. "You want to sue me now? I'll fucking save you the trouble. Take everything. You can have it all!"

I try to get away but he pins my legs where he kneels. So, I aim for his face. He doesn't flinch away. He takes every hit. He's patient. He waits.

"You bastard!" I pound his chest.

"I am." He nods. But he holds on and keeps still.

"You left me." Tears pour out of me. My voice fades along with my strength. I ball his shirt in my fists.

"I know," he says. His eyes red. A gash bleeds from his lip. He's disheveled but motionless. Hard as stone. I give one final push and I give up. He's unmovable. This rage in me.

I grab his face. I look into his eyes that are brimming, watching me so intently. "You hurt me so badly." I sob.

"I regret it. That day...it killed me."

"Then, why?" I barely get it out.

He shakes his head. A tear spills down his face. He looks down at my lap. His hands gripping and loosening around my hips. He runs them up my waist, onto my skin and back again. He can't settle, like he'll explode, like he's afraid I'll disappear. I catch a hand when it travels around my neck, down to my heart. I keep it there. His knuckles white.

"I'm sorry… I..." His breath catches. He lays his head on my lap. He holds on for dear life pressing his face against my thigh. "I didn't want to hurt you. I had no choice. Rose…"

I push him away so he'll look at me. "What did you do to my sister?"

"Nothing," he says angrily. "I never wanted her that way. She knew that. She was my friend. I swore to her I wouldn't go near you. She saw us that day … she found me after… she threatened me. I quit. You two are family. I never had what you have. I couldn't get between you two."

I shake my head. "Where's the weight in that? You made a promise to me, not her! Me! I mattered, too. Didn't I?"

He presses his forehead to mine. "You do. I know that now. I was wrong. I'm sorry."

"Now? Now!" I yell.

I'm suffocating beneath… this. Irate, I push him away but he hides his face from me again. His muffled apologies like a rhythm fallen right on my lap.

"Not enough. This is not enough." I shake my head.

I sit here for an eternity. I'm shaken. I wipe at my tears angrily. I hold my head. When I can't take it, I push at his shoulders. I do it harder.

"I can't… I have to leave."

He straightens where he kneels. Hands coming up to stop me. Those dark eyes, swimming in tears. "No," he utters.

He tugs at my hair, the tail end curling around his fist. He catches my lips. This power behind it, I can't fight it off. I try. I push at shoulders but that weight behind the kiss—I've missed it. But no.

 _No_.

I shove him away. He lets go but not completely. His fingers catch in locks as my hair tumbles free from its tie. He rushes back to me. My cheeks, my lids, peppered with pecks of torture. I turn my head.

"You can't leave. Stay. Stay here with me. I… please," he says against my cheek.

My knees find escape. I tuck them in and crawl away from him, over cushions. But it's no use. He's there, pulling on a leg, running a palm up my thigh where he pulls on my waist. "Let me go," I say through my teeth.

"No. I won't," he insists, desperately. I've never seen him like this.

"Masen," I cry into my hands. I lie face down on this gray couch.

"Just tell me the words again. Say them."

"No! Are you insane?" I fight him. I manage to stand on two feet. His lips at my belly, arms around me. My skin on fire. These tears of mine dripping on the crown of his head. "You laughed in my face." I grip his hair.

"I didn't… I'm sorry. Bella, I want you. I always have." He nips and kisses my burning skin, pulling on my clothing. I bat him away. I fall to my knees. I crawl towards my shoes. I grab one. I look for the other, but he finds it before I do. He's on his hands and knees, I'm under him, watching helplessly as he flings the shoe out the window.

I gasp. "You lunatic! Those were expensive!" I hit him until I'm completely spent. I melt on the plush carpet, pull at my hair and cry. He's over me. His legs tangled with mine. His mouth everywhere.

"I'll buy you a thousand pairs, anything, just don't go." He pulls at my tears with his thumbs.

"Oh my God, why am I here? Why the hell did I come here?" I dig my fists over my eyes.

"Because you want me… just as much. You can't live without me. And you would never try to sue me."

I laugh through tears. He stares down at me, perched from his elbow. I sober after a psychotic moment. Then silence. Just hours melting away.

With my wrist resting on my forehead, I stare at his high ceilings. This perfect place. And this ruined relationship.

I push him off me with such force, his back collides hard with the coffee table. It moves and scrapes the floors loudly. Glass shatters from a vase. He looks up startled where he sits.

"You know why I came here?" I ask. His stupid handsome face is crumpled with fear, watching me, not a blink of an eye. "I wanted to see how you were living without me. I wanted to know if you hurt just as much as I did. And then I see all of this." I wave a hand. "The perfect fucking life. Fame and fortune. You're more than okay. You're just _fine_. All of this while I cried my eyes out for months, for someone who doesn't care. I broke my head trying to figure out what I did. I thought it was my fault _you_ left."

He doesn't respond. He leans on a bent knee and stares at the floor. I shove his bare foot with mine so he'll look at me.

"What I said that day… I had it locked in my heart for so long because I knew you'd be such a dick about it. I knew you'd throw it back in my face. Because I was a child, right? I couldn't possibly have those feelings. You couldn't either. No. Not for Rose's sister. Ludicrous. But it was us. It has always been just us. You and me… this heavy thing we felt. Yet, you threw it back, didn't care. And I was surprised. Stupid, right? Still, a knife… right through me." I point at my heart.

His eyes water. He chews at the corner of his mouth but he barely moves. And God, even now, he's a sight to see. Never have I witnessed this man so moved by anything, let alone me. It just makes him look desirable. I hold myself back with all my might from crawling to him. Giving right in. It just gets me raging angry at the thought.

I wait for anything from him. He opens his mouth, it pours right out.

"You're insane to think I was oblivious." He speaks. He looks at me, indignant. "I was a coward but not desensitized to the feeling. An idiot, yes, but not ignorant to the fact. I was ... mad ... for anything, everything that had to do with you. But her eyes..." He dips his head and grips it. "That resentment in your sister. Like she would rip me apart if I even tried. This control over me. Guilt." He points at himself. "We both knew I could have fallen right at her feet, with time, inevitable. I was at the brink.

"But you came, and just shattered everything. I could not stay away. I tried," he says with a laugh. "Fuck, did I try." He shakes his head. "After that weekend, the photos. I would have begged you to come with me. This would've been your home. You would be here by now, getting ready to climb into our bed." His eyes follow every curve of mine. "I didn't care? You insult me, Bella."

I don't say anything. Why didn't I ever see that struggle in him? Or maybe I did and didn't want to see it. He played the part phenomenally. What I saw was me living in a fantasy, all alone. Him far away from that, out of reach.

I can't look at him. He stares until I feel it in my very bones. Like he'll crawl over, right now, and devour every last bit of me just to prove the point. We both fall into this abyss of silence. I pray he doesn't move an inch. I'm afraid I won't be able to run.

"Say it again," he mutters instead. It interrupts the pounding heartbeats swishing in my ears. His words… they don't help. They just cripple me further.

I sigh. I wipe at endless tears. "What again?" I ask. I want him to say the words.

"What you said that day."

"Absolutely not!" I cut my eyes to his.

"Are you with that other guy?"

I'm speechless. He observes me closely. His lips pursing with thought. He nods.

"He's got a good right hook but...not on you. That, I spotted a mile away," he says, and I hate him. He rubs his jaw with the memory of Serrano doing the unthinkable.

He looks over at my legs, between, where they bend, and back up my chest—like he doesn't need the photos to remember. "Was he good to you, at least?" He asks, but he blinks long and shakes his head. "Don't answer that. It's the other one, isn't it? From the gallery. He's older. You like the older protective type? I gotta be honest though, I don't like him. Not one bit." He shakes his head and frowns.

I roll my eyes. I press my legs together under his scrutiny. I stand. He tenses. He slides over to where I sit on the couch. His fingers curl around my ankle. I fold my legs in, but still, he finds a way to keep his hands on me. He runs a palm from a knee to my toes. Maybe to break them one by one if I don't tell him what he wants to know.

"That's none of your business." I rub my lips. The perfect shade I applied this morning is dry, faded into smudges. From total control to this… us, a mess.

"Did you get rid of it?" He asks. This worry painted over his face.

"Rid of what?"

"The baby," he says, after a long beat. I'm baffled. I give him a look. He's serious. I gape, waiting for the punchline.

"What baby?" I say hysterical. He reaches for my waistband. His fingers trail the zipper and button there idly. His skin on mine.

"Emmett said … soon after I left… he said you and Rose had… some of those tests. Rose found out she was pregnant. He didn't say anything beyond that and… I didn't want to ask. It tore me apart." He runs his thumb around my navel as he speaks.

"I knew it didn't amount to anything. He didn't mention much after. But… I just… I wondered… would you have told me if you were?" He dares to look up at me. Crushed soul through those eyes.

I sigh. His fingers dip into my waistband. I slap them away. Like a boomerang, he comes right back. I'm exhausted. My skin chafed red. I hug at a pillow I pull on my lap.

"Of course, I wouldn't!" I spit. "If I was, which I wasn't and won't ever be," I say glaring. He pulls away. "I wouldn't have told you."

"You wouldn't have told me?" he says exasperated.

"No! What was I going to do? Try to track down an escapist. A selfish prick who only thinks of himself or wouldn't fathom to care a speck?"

He rolls to his knees fast. His neck flaring red with anger as he leans on either side of me. "I would have fucking cared!" He yells. "Who the hell do you think you are to peg me a deadbeat? I am _not_ my fucking father!"

I start. The room echoes with the booming fury. I bite my tongue. I regret the words instantly. Frozen in place, we stare at one another.

He blinks. Hard breaths. The veins from his neck ease from infrared to white. He pulls away. His elbows touch the coffee table where he grips his hair.

I can't move. My fingers dig into the pillow, pressed to me so tightly. The fright. Never in my life have I seen this side of him. His back heaving, up and down, catching air to calm himself. I follow the rhythm with wide eyes.

I move. I try. I crawl to his side gingerly and sit on my heels. It takes three attempts to touch his arm.

"I'm sorry. Masen…" He doesn't look at me. The tabletop is dotted with dark spots beneath him. I blink back my own tears. I regret. Forgetting the history. The story that changed his life at a young age.

"I promise," I whisper. "I wasn't. There was nothing. I told them. I knew I wasn't. It was Rose, she insisted… she was furious when Kate blurted her big mouth about you and me and… she had the stupid sticks, but they were all for her. That hypocritical bitch knew… her and Emmett." I talk faster with every confession. He says nothing.

Look how the tables have turned. I scream inside.

The final ding.

All the rounds end here.

The boxing ring beat to a pulp, now empty. Him on his side, me on mine. Us villains didn't do it right. No red, just black, gray, and brokenness.

It takes a moment. I perk when he finally speaks. I try to find his face, but it's still hidden. He sniffs back tears. "I, uh… I left because there was another kid. That was mine… and someone else's. Not yours. Of course, it wasn't." He laughs to himself. "That would just mean everything would be perfect," he mumbles. I barely hear it.

My brows knit, I lean in. "What kid?" My heart picks up. I swear I'll shove him if he doesn't speak.

"Carmen's," he says flatly. And so goes my heart. I watch his knuckles work over his hair, pulling and letting go again. I'm in a trance. Masen, a father. Masen and Carmen. I knew, but I didn't. My stomach cramps up anyway.

I think and I think. Target. Ryan. I shake my head. "But that doesn't make sense. I saw her with Ryan and…"

He makes fists then. An angry humorless chuckle pushes out of him.

Oh. He was lied to. Cheated. Probably gave her copious amounts of money for that newborn that wasn't his. Anything the babe would need. Carmen lied and took his money anyway. My shoulders drop with relief for the biological aspect of it, not the deceit. Still, this awful feeling sets in. It wasn't just me and him after all. There were others. Women. His punishment towards me.

"So, how long was the baby yours before Rose figured it out for you?" I deadpan.

He stays where he is. Dead quiet. _Long enough._ I can almost hear it audibly.

That's enough to know. Rose. Her expression at the store that day rushes through in memory. Yes. Her hands in this. She dangled that guilt right over him. Sent him away because of it. I don't have to ask. I know all the answers… all but this one.

"And you didn't think to come to me? I had no say, no opinion? You and me, Masen, not a fucking crowd." His fists grow white again. I dare. I ask. The anger simmering in me. "When? While we were together?"

"No," he growls, looking up.

It scares me. He charges over to me. He grips my chin and pulls me in. "Look at me," he says. I do. All red eyes and blotchiness. I swallow a heavy lump to keep more tears at bay. "Nowhere near," he says. "I was lost. Years before I met you. I wouldn't let it go, to beat myself up. It's my punishment. You understand me?" I say yes but it doesn't come out of my mouth. He lets go. He finds his perch again after a sigh.

We sit here for an eternity. The clouds form outside the large windows. Evening creeps in setting shadows on the walls and ceilings. I stare at them, get lost in them. We incrementally settle in our places. Limbs protesting. Muscles sore. I lie here on plush carpet wishing it could swallow me up, while his head rests on his arms. Maybe asleep. Maybe dead. I don't know anything anymore.

I chuckle. The feeling bubbling up. I can't stop. I double over to my side and let it out. He peeks around the table hovering over me. His eyes bloodshot but curious. Worried. I try to calm the hysterics but it only starts up again.

I breathe. I find composure. "Do you realize… all of our troubles… all of them, we owe to Rose? It's always been because of her." His eyes turn to the windows. He thinks. "You, scared shitless of her and the guilt. Me, fighting her for butting into my life. How is that? How is it that… she has a hold on us so tightly? How did we let her go this far?" He doesn't respond.

I turn on my back. It takes a moment but I'm brave, I ask him. "Why didn't you fight harder for me?" My voice breaks.

He watches me from his perch. He can't take it, I guess, because he unsticks himself from the table and crawls over to me. He tucks close to my side and pulls me in.

"I don't know," he says by my ear. "But I'm willing to fight for you for the rest of my life."

Tears roll down my temples. I turn into him. Bury my face in his warmth.

 _Good answer_ , I think.

 _Perfect_.

His hand roams. Finding my skin beneath my shirt. His lips against my forehead. I don't push him away this time. Instead, I drift away. I let the swollen eyes find rest, reddened nose turn back to olive skin and let a heavy heart grow light again. Sleep changes everything.

I wake up nestled to him. His bed smells of him. I run a hand over his arm around me. Slumber cloaking him behind me. I barely remember him pulling us in here, clothes and all, over sheets. Just sleep.

I look out the high window from his room off the kitchen. Just as I suspected. The stars gleam perfectly. I blink my lids free. Swollen eyes, swollen heart from crying so much. Love hurts.

I shift. His eyes pop open, his arm tightens. "Please… stay," he whispers. His eyes close again as he drifts. I watch him a while. His brows knitted as he sleeps, not completely at peace. I run a thumb between them. It smooths right out. He blinks. His eyes crawl back up to mine. He watches quietly.

"Someday… you'll marry me, right?" he murmurs. He must be dreaming.

I watch him. I take in the words. They're startling but imminent. He's sure of it, he's not letting go and he's letting me know.

I nod yes and say, "No. Far from that." Yet, there's no denying it. I'd be lying to myself.

"I know," he says. He looks sad. He digs into his pant pocket he's had on all day and pulls something out. He uncurls my hand and places it there then closes my fist. He's looking down at our hands as he runs an index over my knuckles. "I bought it long ago. On a day I wanted to rush back to Boston, but I knew I couldn't. This is not the way I planned to do this, but I want you to have it. It's yours." He pulls his hand away to tuck it under his cheek. "Just wear it when you're ready." He watches as I discover a band, a perfect golden sphere.

I pluck it and slip it on that finger. Perfect fit. I tuck my hand under my cheek and stare back at him. "I'll wear it when _we're_ ready," I say to him. The diamond cold against my cheek.

No doubt or fear.

Just this contentment.

All that's left—me and him, no one else.

...


	24. Chapter 24 - Newspaper

**A/N: Sorry for the delay, just scheming, planning and outlining for the rest of fic. Go read. Love you for coming in here and taking the time. xoxo**

* * *

 **Chapter 24: Newspaper**

I step out of the cab with his help. He accompanies me inside the hotel.

"Are you sure? You know I want you with me," he says. He's hoping so badly. But I nod. I need to think through things. Take everything in. Let the weight of this rock suddenly on my finger settle in, the hand he squeezes right now and rubs with a thumb.

He steps back. We haven't kissed. Not since he stole one. It feels like a long time ago when we yelled at each other's faces.

I shuffle my bare feet on the marble floors, one shoe in my hand, my hair tie around my wrist. But I feel this beauty inside. The way he looks at me. I turn, step into the elevators, watch him as they seal shut. Yet, I know, there's so much left to mend.

No escape.

Kate is at the doors in her running gear when they open on our floor. Of course, she is. My stomach drops.

"What in the fuck?" she shouts. She's a starfish. All limbs spread out keeping the elevator doors open. She takes me in. I roll my eyes. Push her to the side.

"I don't want to hear it."

"But you look… crazy. What the hell happened?" She follows behind me.

I sigh. I hunt for the key to the door in my bag. "We fought. A lot. That's what happened."

"But…" She steps around me so she can see my face. "Where are your Jimmy Choo's?" She looks at my bare feet.

"He threw one out the window." I slide the keycard. Nothing happens.

"Holy shit!" she shouts. The whole hallway echoes. "Where were you all night? You should've called me!"

Stupid fucking key when you need it to work. "I was with him."

She's silent for a moment. "Oh." She makes it sound like something.

I turn to her. "Sleeping. That's it. Miss Nosey Wench."

"Okay. So, I'm guessing it went to shit? I'm sorry, hun." She puts her arm around me. I bang a fist on the door and grunt. I lean my back on it with a huff.

"Who said it went to shit?" I give her a look.

She perks up. "So, it didn't go to shit? You're too angry for someone who just kissed, made up and had hot steamy makeup sex. Speak woman!"

"Right, because I would jump in bed with him and forgive all so quickly after everything he's done," I say. She shrugs but knows I'm right.

I stare at a wall. I breathe. "Remember I said bloodshed?" She nods excitedly. "Well, there was. I broke his lip. He broke my shoes and my plan of revenge. We simmered all the way down to crawling on our hands and knees and crying our eyes out. I have a headache now." I fold a palm over my forehead.

She gasps. She points.

"What the heck is that then?" she shouts. I look down at my hand. I haven't really looked at it. It's ridiculously beautiful. The band is old gold, one diamond set flat and round like a natural stone. It's tucked in the middle as if it were fused into the metal. It fits perfect on my finger. Modern, yet quaint at the same time. My heart skips.

"He told me whenever I'm ready. So, I guess he proposed. Sort of."

Kate screams. I start.

I hide my hand and I look up to watch her running up and down the hallway screaming her head off. She grabs me and hugs me tight. Her tears flow over my shoulder. I bury my face on hers and wait it out.

She looks at me. "I'm so happy for you! But wait, why are you angry? You're supposed to be thrilled!" She sniffs back her tears.

I swallow hard. "Because he never said he loved me back. All that time," I say and wave a hand. She stares. "So, yeah. That."

She shakes her head. "He wouldn't give you this if he didn't. That's silly."

"But he didn't," I tell her. She thinks. Her palm over the ring.

"Did he ever mention it at all?"

I think. "He kept asking me to say the words from that day and I refused."

"That's it. He's giving you the option," she says lifting my hand. " _Whenever you're ready,"_ she reminds me the words.

I sigh.

My response different: 'When _we're_ ready'. But I'm not discussing this further with her. I need to be alone.

"I swear if you tell anyone back home—and I know you've been keeping them updated—I will kill you. Enough. It ends here. No more butting into my life. I need this time, Kate." She nods seriously.

I turn to the door and swipe the key. It opens. My hands are trembling less now.

"Then you might want to hide it. That shit shines bright. Even the blind will see it." She winks and walks away.

I take it off my finger and loop it in my gold necklace I never take off. Then I shower and I can't stop reaching for it to see if it's still there. I stare through the mirror and it catches the light from the vanity. This feeling hits me like I'll run back and go find him.

I thumb the new attachment to my body, knowing in my heart, even as angry as I am, I won't ever take it off. I slip it back onto my hand even if it's just for the night.

Edward Masen wants me for life.

 _..._

I scroll up. My blackberry messages and the requests line up one at a time. They're all from him.

It was perfect when he texted the moment I hit the pillow Sunday night. His words were sweet, telling me 'Good-night'. I didn't reply. I closed my eyes and the heaviness on these lids that saw so much made sleep quick.

I dreamed of him and I was chasing him as he ran. There was this anger in me watching his expression tease and make light of my heartbreak. I woke up in sweat and probably more upset than I was when I went to sleep.

I'm not content. I'm not happy. There's no absolute closure. I need time. Eventually, time with him and see his changes, to really convince me or put me at ease. I need to validate this ring on me. See if the feeling is there, the one where I was completely enamored with him just a year ago.

I'm numb now.

The week has crawled and so have I. No energy, no will to do anything. That lunch drained everything out of me.

And yes, I'm avoiding him.

At first, my heart pounded when the first text came in on Monday. I was at my desk. I couldn't focus all day after that. I didn't know what to say to, _'Meet with me?'_

 _'Bella, please,'_ is what he said Tuesday.

By Wednesday I sighed, exhausted. All morning the memories came back of that day at the train station. His words. The things we said when we fought at the loft. All of it just looped in my brain.

I fumed. And when the text came I was ready to call him and tell him to fuck off for life.

His message: _'I miss you… but I understand.'_

But does he? Does he understand that if I see him I could end his life with all this pent up rage I have built up?

I let out a growl and it's loud because he's patient, he waits.

The team looks up. They stare.

I stare right back. Then I say, "Pizza. Who's with me?" Half of them stand up. I flick my jacket off my chair and pull it on.

Kate takes one good look at me after glancing at my cell and grins sadly. She hasn't said a word. Thank Christ.

The crew is chatty, happy, and following behind Kate and I—sans Townsend. He's been in meetings since Monday with workers for a new project. I'm disappointed. I could use the distraction. But who am I kidding? I'm a mess and need this moment to reflect.

I'm almost choking on a pepperoni as I cackle loud. Sergio, a slim, nerdy dude from the team is on a table reciting a poem to the girl at the register.

He says it's from Neruda, but I don't think the poet wrote such innuendos.

She's pink at the cheeks trying not to crack a smile. She's bullheaded and is put off by any customer no matter the level of politeness.

People tell me he's been trying to get her number since last summer. I watch him fail again… miserably.

The others just throw balled up napkins at him to pipe down or quit it. They run out when she pulls out a bat from behind the counter. Woots and hollers fill the small shop. I'm mortified and glad I'm at the next table.

Kate snorts loud. I'm not any better. We are left alone watching the traffic of pizza lovers dropping in to get a slice. The best in town.

"It's nice to see you smile. It's been a while," she says without a glance. I sigh. My lips instantly wither back in place—a perfect bitch-faced frown.

"I love them. It's magical what's happening here. It's like us when it was actually exciting and no one was at each other's throats. Remember?" I ask. I ignore her comment.

She looks out the door where the group stands around talking. She knows what I mean. I know it's why she wants to stay.

Everyone has a perfect role in this Local and personalities mesh well. Just like when we were all together in Boston. But before the drugs and deceit.

Kate nods.

"It's because you're here. They love you already. You should stay." She says this so simply and it's like I never considered it.

I've been finding the gems in each person. They laugh at my jokes. They wait, anticipating my every move. I've noticed. It's nice here. I'm respected and looked up to.

But then _him_. Just that thought sours the possibility. I wouldn't want to be anywhere near where he lives right now.

"Will you see him again?" she asks, walking up to the register. Bat girl now settled behind it. Her gaze shifts to the window on occasion. I pay for the tab. Kate fights me but not too hard.

"No. Yes. Never," is my answer. Kate laughs.

"Can I see _it_ again?" She asks with a grin. I roll my eyes. All week she's wanted a glimpse of the ring just to bite her lip and giggle at it hanging around my neck.

"No."

"Heifer."

"Tell John to get you one." I punt that her way.

She gasps and hits my arm. I catch it and hook it around mine. Then her face changes.

"Well, it wouldn't be a bad idea." She shrugs. "Double wedding. We can march down the aisle together. Matching veils. Something borrowed. Something blue."

"Suck a nut, Kate."

Her shoulders bob. But then, I see her eyeing John closely. A silly grin around her lips. I can see the bridezilla eyes already.

The group ahead makes more noise than their usual level of chaos. Townsend walks up from another street and crosses over.

I kind of go breathless.

He pats a shoulder here and there until he makes it to us. His arm goes around my shoulder without a thought. I redden.

He looks gorgeous in street clothes; a satchel strapped across his chest, his neck exposed down to his chest a little, a dark jacket around his frame… and jeans. God, the jeans. I try not to look, but I fail.

Kate's arm is still hooked to my other side. I hold on tight. She's all eyes and parted lips watching him get friendly.

"You look lovely today. Must be that smile," he says to me. Kate rolls her eyes away. I press my lips together.

He hasn't brought up the gallery incident. Thank God. I'd die of shame if he did. Since then, he's been forward when we're around each other. I don't know what it was, but, he's not afraid to get close. I mean, he fought off a crazy ex for me. How much more personal can we get?

Point is, it brings butterflies to my stomach, at the same time it makes Kate's churn. But she hasn't said a word. She knows better.

We chat about his meetings as the rep for a new project. Conversation is always light and interesting with him. But I wait for it—that moment Kate takes the chance to pull me away. It never fails.

This time, she gasps. I sigh looking over, ready to see what she's getting all dramatic about.

She pulls me with her, essentially ripping me away from Townsend instead of pulling herself away altogether. She hops over to a newspaper stand. She grabs the folded newsprint. I stare at it. The headline: An artful quarrel between lovers.

My photo is on the cover.

Well, fuck.

...

Thursday. I'm sitting at my desk when the text comes in at around lunch time.

 _"I'm downstairs. I'm waiting here through lunch. That's an open invitation if you'd care to join."_

I tap the off button on the cell phone and drop it on the desk. It's been awkward all day. It was awkward yesterday. Maybe just my paranoia and everything is really just fine.

But the vision of Townsend looking over our shoulder, seeing the newspaper in my hands, mortified me. His sad grin. He already saw it that morning, plastered all over the city. He didn't mention it, hoping I wouldn't see it.

John looked back and it's like his shoulders dropped. He, too, wanted to spare me the anguish.

Townsend stepped in, grabbed the pile and paid the old man behind the newsstand. He heaved all of the remaining copies into a trash bin close by. He grabbed my free hand and pulled me away.

Kate followed along. That time, with a grin on her face.

"Fifty fewer copies floating around New York," he said. And at that moment my heart pattered a different way. I couldn't keep my eyes off of him.

Of course, once I got to my hotel room I spread out the one copy he didn't throw away. I read every word over and over again.

It was a love story. 'Sources' said we separated. A long lost couple who met again at the opening. _Her eyes a gleam, surprised by the gesture. Moved. And all the more in love._

Oh, I was moved alright. Moved right on out of there and ran off.

Am I mad about the photos? No. They're… extraordinary. Nothing like that has ever been done for me—ordinary ol' me. The way he saw me, sees me, shakes me right to the core. It's art. His talent pure and raw. I would've let him use them even if I was hiding away in the Himalayas. I would've sent a telegram with my consent.

That's what I told Townsend after he pulled me away. Everyone was back at their desks, savoring the remnant greasy lunch on their tongues. We ended up at the deli downstairs. I stopped to get a coffee. He lingered with Kate's glaring stare just behind him. John pulled her into an elevator.

She's team Masen all the way.

"I have to say, I did take a peek," he said, a grin behind some knuckles where he leaned.

I grew all kinds of red. My shoulders couldn't stop they're bobbing. I laughed. I asked him when. He took his time telling me about the trip he made to the gallery the next day. He told me about his favorite pieces, mentioning the ones that spoke to him the most.

He was too intrigued. The scene after was like the climax of a book. The protagonist sitting before him and him; supporting actor.

My stomach still flutters with invisible wings as I recall him telling me, "Beautiful. Just beautiful, Bella." His eyes like the deep layers of ebony fossil, a rare species there.

So, what do I do now that I'm due to step out with him for our midday bite and then a meeting in Brooklyn? Complicated and Nerves awaits for me at the bottom floor. Eager. Thumb hovering over the phone, watching for my reply text.

Before Townsend appears to walk us out I roll my chair to Kate's desk and show her the text. Her eyes go big.

She shrugs. "Well, you're working. It's not a crime. Decline."

I stare at her. I didn't expect her so nonchalant.

She slaps a paper on the desk like she gives up. "The newspaper. That did me in. If it were me I'd… I don't know how you're dealing with this. So, I say, do what you need to do. Talk to him. Don't talk to him. Fuck it."

I watch her for longer. I wait. She nods her head and turns when she's called.

"Okay." I roll back to my desk confused. Leave it to Kate to always simplify things.

Easy-peasy, right? I send my first reply.

 _I can't. I have a meeting in downtown_.

I drop the phone in my purse.

The elevator doors open on the bottom floor and I'm a wreck. I kind of scan the area as quick as I can to make sure.

He's not here.

Then my shoulders square and I catch myself. _Easy peasy._ I go about my day because I can and have the right to.

Townsend smiles over at me. "What?"

With a shake of his head, he says, "Nothing. You're smiling again."

I touch my lips. "I am?" He looks down at what my fingers touch. His eyes blink away. That jaw of his goes sharp. He licks his lips as he relaxes the muscles.

"How long have you known him?" he asks.

A pang in my chest.

"Him?" I play dumb.

"The one who took your photos. The one who left a dent on a cab with his bare hands to keep you from running."

Damn.

"Oh, that one." He grins. He looks away.

I don't actually reply. The sidewalk is full, we maneuver and we go out of sync in strides. I take the distraction. Once he's back he looks at me. Waiting.

Shit.

I lie out of my ass. "Oh, just a guy. Art student. He needed a model. I needed the money. It worked out. I never saw him again. He's..." I can't. I shut my trap.

"Just a guy… who fought off grown men trying to get to you?" He chuckles. "Fuck, my ear and gums are still ripped from the swings and elbow jabs."

"What?" I look at his ear, his… clean gums around his smile.

"We had to fight him off the cab, sweetheart. He wasn't going to let go on his own. We bled out."

"He hit you?" I'm mortified.

He scrunched his chin with a quick frown like it's no big deal. "Nothing a desperate man wouldn't do given the circumstance."

We're sitting down at Starbucks. I haven't spoken since the sidewalk. He's sitting across from me. Quiet. Warm coffee cups in our hands. We're killing time before the meeting. I curse the snail-spaced hour.

"I'm… " I begin to apologize. He lifts a hand suddenly.

"Relax. It's alright. Back in my day, I used to box a little. Street kids. Amateur club. I spent summers in Rio at my grandparent's house. I took a jab or two in my time. No surprise. No harm done."

I look down at his biceps. It's automatic.

And why would I do such a thing?

I divert my eyes from the toned arms. It's too late. He smirks. He tilts his head at me to catch my eyes.

"I mean, it's been a while but I still got it." He jokes as he pats a flexed muscle.

I don't think he'll ever lose it.

I run my fingers through my hair and let out a chuckle.

 _Use those guns. Kill me dead._

It's silent. Maybe a little awkward? I guess. It hasn't been like this with him, ever. It's weird. He thumbs the sleeve of his cup. He catches my eyes through his lashes.

I lose my breath.

"Well… he must be something. Whatever he is..." He shrugs a bit like it doesn't matter.

"But what I wanted to say was… that I'm irrational. I know I shouldn't be, but I have no… shame. Not when I'm invested," he says. I stare at his mouth, the safe zone. Or is it? He licks his lips.

I'm transfixed.

"He gets the memories beyond those photos. The way you looked. Curves. Hair fanned out." He shakes his head. "What I wouldn't give to have been the first to discover that, layer by layer."

Red doesn't define my blush. I push a laugh through my nose and keep my gaze away from those eyes. He's anything but keeping this light. His mouth set in a perfectly straight, earnest expression.

He's serious.

I swallow heavy. I challenge that confession. "What does that mean?"

"It means it doesn't matter, Bella. Just because he got the photos, doesn't mean he gets the big picture."

I stare and stare. He doesn't break. His jaw tense. The grit in his words. And that's something. A perfect stranger laying it all out, willing, while this other one in my life could only give a ring with no words attached. Despite years of knowing me.

Not enough.

But this guy. He makes that possibility. The door wide open to free me from all of this. Not a hint of humor or doubt in his demeanor. He'd take me in a closet. Over a table. Right here. Truly—not coward thoughts like mine.

He stands, pulls in his chair and offers his hand. "Come."

For a second, I think he means into a closet. I blink and get ready for our meeting. The hour is up.

We walk down a sidewalk and the pavement is a blank slate for my imagination. Images of my fingers around those biceps. In a closet. On a table. In a bed. Tangled legs.

My eyes drying up without a blink. I picture it. Feel it. Everything.

 _Damn._

Easy-peasy.

Maybe he's right? No, definitely, he is right. I would be happy without this unlabeled, loveless and hopeless ring around my neck.

I almost reach for it, snap it off and walk by the bin at the cross-walk coming up.

But there's a sudden spark. A bolt shoots up from fingertips to fingertips, straight to my heart. It's something. Monumental.

I don't feel it through the hand holding Townsend's. He caught mine earlier to hurry through crowds and construction. It's my other hand. The one that swings freely at my side. It is softly gripped by Complicated and Nerves passing by.

I pull in a sharp breath. A sharp pain. It zips right through my limbs. A good pain. The kind that aches.

I look up. Gray eyes stare right back. Just an instant. His shoulder brushing mine. His fingers catching mine.

I stagger. He hangs on. He stands there, frozen, mid-stride.

A bag on one shoulder, that old tweed peacoat he used to wear is over a white t-shirt. His old self; erratic hair, a peppered jaw, and red parted lips.

He hasn't slept.

My back is to Townsend's, who waits just like everyone else for the light to change. They don't know what crashed. What rumbled the ground beneath me.

The feeling, ad nauseam, always there. Teasing. Strong. Stronger. Strongest. More than any other's touch.

It's fast. Not even a few seconds. People move. My hand is tugged from behind. Masen lets go at our end. A somber grin plays at his lips as he walks backward.

He pushes that hand into a pocket. He won't run after. No.

He's patient. He waits.

I turn but feel that burn. Him still watching.

Like a spell, a dagger sent my way, the ring weighs a ton. The bin is far and left behind. All doubt also with it.

I taste. It's involuntary. My warmed fingers to my lips. Blocks and blocks away. Townsend, pedestrians, the world... none the wiser.

...


	25. Chapter 25 - Saks

**A/N: Special thanks to Iris the beta and her skills, and for dealing with my ass. Hah.  
** ** **Also, to my pnfbb—*snort*. Get some sun.****

 **It's summer for most out there, isn't it? I hope you're keeping cool, cuz Masen won't.**

 **Enjoy.**

* * *

 **Chapter 25 - Saks**

"What is it?" Kate asks, her eyes a bit big and curiosity spiked.

The concierge waved me over earlier before I could make it to my room. Kate was with me, listening to the electrifying moment I went through on our way to the meeting.

Said meeting was long and tortuous. I shamefully have no clue what happened in it. My mind was back on the street. That touch. The radiating waves are still pulsing, my hand the anchor.

I ponder. How is it that, unbeknownst to what was happening around me, my body would react as such? It's unbelievable, irritating.

Of course my insides would curl up just for him.

The way he looked was exactly how I remembered. The wind was beaten right out of me. Instantly, I was back home, where we were working partners, making rounds and going from home to home to get signatures. We were both doing what we did best, with him in a t-shirt, broken-in sneakers, and a wicked grin just for me.

I watched Townsend lead the meeting; the way his jaw flexed when he spoke, his height, and how much he filled the room with this presence.

He would look over and give me a slight grin when he noticed I was observing way too closely for way too long. It wasn't like I was the only one. Women in the room seem to notice his... everything.

I wanted to shout, "Right?!" I know they would've agreed eagerly, straightening their hair and wishing they'd not been so unkempt this morning, dabbing on some makeup or wishing they'd worn the right outfit. They sat with grins and faraway eyes.

I've been through this. I used to sit to the side while Masen led meetings, those far away eyes in the crowd for him, too. The difference now is wide and apart. While Townsend is good at his job, nothing compared to how Masen artfully made his way deep in your heart with this passion. His words led everyone in the room to agree to any union campaign by the end of the speech. He was empathetic, kind, relatable, and downright charming. Even men smiled when he'd pat them on the back, feeling like they changed the world with one signature.

That level of understanding and putting yourself entirely in their shoes are how I learned to be. It's key to make relationships, not business partners. It's learning everyone's name and remembering to ask about their children or that ill loved one they told you about, by doing these things with complete dedication.

It captures their hearts.

We wanted to genuinely help their work experience and make it fair and safe, something we had to force the corporate company to do for them.

So, I stood back and watched Townsend make his case. _"Join the union. We'll help you every step of the way."_ It was wonderful, but that poetry was missing; it could not be compared. I spoke after to fill in the voids.

The moment I reached for his back jean pocket for that thin-tip pen, without a thought, made me freeze.

The workers milled about, talking to us after the meeting; curious and anxious to tell their work stories. I misplaced my pen. I needed a name. A worker didn't make it to the meeting,

and I would have to reach out to them later.

So, my heart froze. Masen would've had that pen handy there. My hand automatically reached to snatch it like I used to, but it wasn't there. I caught myself before I went in to search. How embarrassing would that have been, feeling him up, here, mind elsewhere?

Then I realized I'd been comparing them so much that it simmered down to automatic inappropriate actions. Christ. I internally rolled my eyes.

Nevertheless, I was a mess. Still am. I can't seem to function... or listen to Kate's squeals as I retell the sidewalk story.

I roll my eyes, this time so she'd see me. "Stop it. What I'm saying is I hate how my body reacts. So traitorous. I'm instantly mush when he's even a foot close."

She laughs.

"It's not funny."

She nods. "Yeah, it is. Jump his bones already."

"No! What's wrong with you?"

She grabs the box off the concierge counter and turns to head for the elevators.

The concierge calls out abruptly, his sagging cheeks like a cute pug dog with floppy ears. His red suit and golden buttons set the tone comically.

"I have further instructions upon opening the package. Please see me when you're ready." He turns to his computer screen without a second glance.

My brows knit.

"Oh," Kate blubbers with a smile, her curiosity tenfold now.

She runs to the elevator, and I have to catch up begrudgingly. She plops on my bed, kicks off her shoes in the process, and settles by the box with a bit of tongue out.

I stand by the door and bend at my knees a little. "Good girl," I coddle. "Who's my good little girl?"

She huffs. "Bitch."

"No, babe. Literally you right now." I snort at her eagerness.

"Just open it already! You know I can't take enclosed mysterious things. I can't even see Amazon packages without getting antsy."

I drop my purse and kick off my shoes, too.

I nudge the box open, and there's another inside. Tedious. My fingers work out the white box with silk ribbon. The pattern on it has the Christian Louboutin monogram.

My heart speeds up. Kate and I look at each other, our eyes wide like it's Christmas Day.

Now we're tearing at the white box together.

Tissue paper upon tissue paper pours out. Together, we gasp.

Christian Louboutin's latest season five-inch heels in all their glory... and in my size. A card is tucked inside. Kate grabs the right shoe and ogles at the studded straps as I grab the ivory envelope.

"I just died. I'm in heaven. This is what it feels like," she whispers, petting the slope of the soles.

 _I owed you. It was far overdue, and so were the apologies. Those come endlessly._

 _Enjoy the gifts._

 _M*_

I close the card. I'm speechless.

I watch Kate salivate as she jabbers to herself. She's already trying one on, even though her foot will swim in it.

I grab the phone and hit the button for concierge. The pug-man picks up, his deep voice illustrating a cartoon character painted in my mind.

"There were more deliveries for me?" I ask. He confirms. He goes on to explain. When he's done, I thank him and hang up. Dejected, I sit and watch a happy Kate.

"Why do you have to have such big feet? God, why?" She growls while turning circles in front of the bathroom mirror.

I grab the other shoe. "I don't. You just have abnormally small feet."

I slip it on. I sigh. Perfect. The prince has found his disgruntled peasant girl.

I slip it off, and it lands in the box in time for Kate's greedy hands. She's balanced on two perfectly patent-leather shoes now.

I watch her curtsy and vogue like a love-sick vanity girl. I wonder how much she'll squeal when she hears there's more.

 _Oh, there's so much more._

An open tab at Saks Fifth Avenue awaits for a perfectly cliché _Pretty Woman_ shopping spree.

"'Big mistake," I mutter in my best Julia. "Huge."

Kate gushes a little more and finally takes them off to give them one last look before putting them back.

She looks at me. She makes a face like she realizes something and is dreading it.

Before she protests, I grab the box and head for the door.

"No!" Kate growls.

"I'm sending it back. All of it."

She gasps. "Don't you dare!" She jumps on my back. I stagger.

"I'm not keeping this," I protest.

"Yes, you will! And you will like it!"

We wrestle. I bite her forearm. She yelps and flinches away. I charge for the door. She grunts and lands on my legs, slamming me against it and down with a loud thump. We roll around the carpet.

"Truce! Truce!" she shouts. When I don't stop, she pinches my nipple.

"Ah! You bitch!" I bat her away.

I look up at her. I'm on my back. She's straddling me.

"Calm down, psycho. Think. He owes you plenty more than an awesome pair of shoes. You _will_ take it, and you _will_ fucking wear the shit out of them, because you deserve them! You hear me?"

"What's he doing?! What's he trying to pull?!" I shout. "That's not how apologies work. I can't be bought!"

"You can, and you will! He's committed enough bullshit. He should give back copiously all he has taken!"

She looks at me from above, gauges my reaction. When she's satisfied, she drops beside me.

We're a panting mess.

Tears seem to get caught in my hair, silently making their way out from the corners of my eyes.

Kate turns her head. She watches. "They're just shoes," she says. I shake my head.

"They're a deceitful way into my orbit."

"Orbit?" She's confused. I roll my eyes, sending a fresh streak of tears down my temples. She closes in like she's going to tell me a secret. "You mean vagina?"

I laugh. "Well... Yes, I guess."

"Accept it. Let him penetrate... your heart." She acts it out like a soap opera. I scoff. But what she says brings back memories, aching ones, of him doing such. I wince.

She settles, turns on her side, and watches me some more. One fingertip finds a trailing tear. She wipes it off on my shirt.

"I mean, why couldn't we have been perfect from the beginning? I was there. He had me. Fully. I was so stupid, lovesick, and obsessed. He could've just given up the show and be a fucking... man about it," I say. I shake my head.

"Now I have to go through all this bullshit. Face the horror, the awkwardness, the fucking hurt again. I buried it. I was moving on. Then all of this! And I'm supposed to give in? That quick? When he was just the most...?" I grip my hair. " _I'm_ the bitch now?" I see Kate nodding her head in understanding beside me. She's quiet.

"And then Townsend. Argh! Just so... fucking perfect." I drag out the profanity satisfyingly. Kate switches to shaking her head. I ignore her. "Do you know what that man said to me?"

"No. I don't wanna know."

I speak over her. "He said... something like... he went to go see my naked pictures, and he was jealous he couldn't be the one to peel me layer by layer."

"Wait. What?" She stares at the ceiling, brows knit.

"Something like that! I couldn't even focus, for crying out loud! But it sounded so dirty. So, so dirty."

"Cannibal, even."

"I mean, why? Any day— _any_ day—I would've met him. It would've been easy. I would've had this all laid out."

"Or you laid out... on your back," she says between pauses. I let words pour, not really listening. My brain's a rambling mess.

"I would've been in this healthy relationship—like, normal! A respectable adult man holding my hand, telling me things, and treating me like a woman. Kate, I've never been treated like that. For years, it was just this game—a game with a college guy, who didn't even have a retirement plan, manners, or fucking clean shoes. I was used to dirty shoes. That's what I thought I needed."

She snorts. "Retirement plan."

"I've never had an adult relationship. It always felt like a high school crush that never went anywhere. And this other man comes along, and I'm dumbfounded. I want this maturity and tenacity and... fucking thoughtfulness and care in a partner, you know? Someone I can rely on fully, who will be there for me and who would give back what I give in its entirety!

"Like Emmett and John. They're so well put together. They know what they want. Townsend sure as fuck knows what he wants. He told me, straight out, at a Starbucks, cup in hand, and honest eyes, 'I know what to do with you. Here's our life plan: ten years, twenty, a family, a fucking minivan.'"

"Dang," she says. "He said all that?"

"No, but he sure as hell would've if I'd let him! He laid it all out in one hour before a work meeting."

"But then..."

"But then..." I pick that right up. I roll around a bit. "This arrogant, impossible, smart-assed, irresistible..." I say with a sigh. "...warm and gorgeous jerk I compare every man against just walked by and..."

"Ruined... everything." She finishes the rant.

"And gave me shoes!"

"Yes. Very, very pretty shoes you should never throw away."

"And a shopping spree at Saks? Who does that?!"

"Yes, a— What?!" Her eyes grow to bulbs.

My ears. I was right. Squeal after squeal pipes out of her. She jumps me again. Touching nose to nose, she's stares me down.

"You listen to me, young lady! You will get your ass up, you will dry those eyes, you will pee before we leave, and you will unwrap your panties from their twist. I will get your ass out of this room and into a dressing room if it's the last thing I do. Move. Stat!"

I sniff back a new round of tears.

"What is it now?" She straightens over me.

"You're so freakishly heavy that I already peed on myself a little."

...

It's Saturday.

The shoes came yesterday. I dumped them in the closet, but then Kate charged back into my room to grab them. They currently reside in her room somewhere.

But that was after the cryfest and struggle. I have scratches and bruises from her manicured nails.

We walk into Saks, and I walk back out when we get to the doors. Kate fetches me and pins my arm to hers.

She squeals but squares her shoulders. She pretends like she has money and this is normal. She drags us to a saleswoman and drops Masen's name.

"Edward Masen has an account here."

I sigh a little. _Edward Masen._ I always did love the name. It always sounded like something special, like he'd change big things or become a senator, an actor, a famous artist... or a porn star.

Well, we used to joke about the latter, and when we did, I'd have visions for days of him... doing his porn-star things to me.

But mostly, when we weren't inappropriate, he was someone I would look up to.

He did everything in this alluring way. He was eloquent and polite... when he really wanted to be. But together, alone, he would tell me the dirtiest jokes, give me the dirtiest looks. Not quite a gentleman. Man, did it turn my switch on. I'd turn to putty.

An enigma. The mysterious guy who would be off for a day or two to meet a friend in Ireland no one ever knew he had and be back midweek, casually talking about the weather.

He'd subtly do things to make my day easier. He knew which snacks I'd sneak in my purse. He'd pump gas at the station and jump in with a bag of salt-and-vinegar chips from the store, just because he knew it's what I needed on bad days.

I'd have a drink in my hand as soon as I'd get back from restrooms at bars. He'd defend me when men were being misogynistic pricks and didn't want to be led by a female. Or that one time he noticed another being too forward after a meeting... He found him in the bathroom after. I never knew what he did, but the man never bothered me again.

Edward Masen, the guy who doesn't take shit from anyone but hides the fact he's kind-hearted. He loves crossword puzzles and buys the _Sunday Globe_ to feast on the large gray pages with bold serif letters of foreign politics. He's everything a curious, intellectual, meticulous man is, but he sure as hell isn't one to give such lavish gifts.

So, then why?

I wonder all of this as Kate wanders out of a fitting room with a brand new outfit on. It's not like we had plans to go anywhere today. I refused to leave the hotel room last night and sat staring at the shoes from afar, like they were teasing me, calling my name. A pressing reminder of him.

"If you don't try anything on, I'll buy an outfit. And a purse. And five pairs of shoes," she says as a warning.

I shrug. "Not my money."

She rolls her eyes, claws the air, and snarls. "Please. Have. Fun."

I bite on a jagged nail and stare at her.

"And," she continues, "it _is_ yours. He's selling those boob pics of yours by the handful!" She snorts suddenly. "You're definitely more than a handful." She gestures a large chest over hers.

She picks up a lace bra from a mahogany shelf. She tosses the large cup size. It lands on my face.

"Buy one. Show it to him. Rub it over his pitiful face. Live a little."

I huff, check the tag, and gasp a little.

The saleswoman smiles and brings over other options in my correct size.

 _How does she know?_

But it doesn't matter. The loveliest silks and lace shut my pie hole quickly.

 _Okay. Maybe just one pair._

I grab one to inspect it. Kate winks. "But _not_ to rub it on his face, dirty whore," I tell her without her even speaking.

I sheepishly grin at the psychic currently setting up a fitting room for me. I avoid it at all costs, but maybe I'm curious and stand from the plush couch to roam around the floor. Man, are things pretty.

Two women step into this section we've inhabited for hours. They take in the merchandise. I roll my eyes instantly. Of course they're models. Their expensive dresses look casual and pretty on them, but their sneers look ugly.

Instantly, it's that feeling you get when people of means stare and give you the side-eye. They're saying, "You can't afford any of this. Who let you in here?"

Well, your shoulders square out of spite. You don't make faces when you glance at price tags. Better yet, you don't glance at price tags. Fuck that. You have money and are able to afford this entire floor, even if you sure as he'll can't. That's the automatic front.

So, I do just that; square, browse, don't look at price tags. I avoid eye contact and stand straight in my t-shirt, jeans, and tousled hair I regret not brushing this morning.

Kate is loud from behind the curtains, like we're damn hillbillies. I cringe but laugh and try not to answer back.

Aren't we a pair?

I grab a shit-ton of lace and walk into the dressing room, because one thing you don't do is walk away empty-handed. You just do it later when snobs aren't watching.

Once I'm in the dressing room, I'm fucked. Kate rushes out of hers, and I hear her giving orders to get that dress I was eyeing earlier. It appears by the closed curtains. I bite my lip. I stroke the wrapped fabric.

 _Well, if I'm going to hell, might as well have a little fun._

"I hear a zipper going!" Kate sing-songs. She's smug.

"I was just adjusting my dick."

I hear more than Kate's laughter.

I pull the curtain back, and Kate gasps. "Just perfect," she says about the dress. My boobs are practically under my chin, suspended in this new lace... contraption.

But her eyes aren't the only ones on me.

An older woman in thick, black-rimmed glasses looks up. She's talking to the leggy models who apparently can crack smiles after all. They seem to be prancing around her, but she's looking away. At me.

She pushes a tall one to the side and pulls down her spectacles. She scans me from head to toes.

"You," she says. She points with a manicured finger. "I know you. I can spot that lovely skin of yours anywhere. Edward Masen. The gallery in Manhattan this season, correct?"

I don't respond, but Kate does. She confirms and introduces me and herself.

"Lovely. Just lovely," the old woman mutters. "That photographer has set up a grand future for himself with the gem he's found. Bask in it, darling. Get your share of the profits." She chuckles. It's deep and throaty.

She flips a card right out from her bosom, it seems. She reaches over. "Either way, I would love you for a new season line. Just optics for a spread."

"Oh, no. I don't..." I stutter.

"Yes, she can, and she would be honored," Kate says, interrupting. She takes the business card, her smile wide.

I'm speechless. The woman blows a kiss and sets off.

The sneering tall ones stand with gaping mouths. They have no choice but to move away, tails between their perfectly shaped legs.

Kate laughs manically. She bounces, sending her tits on a journey in a new bra.

"A fucking magazine editor!" She holds up the card, and sure enough, the letters are printed in serif.

I'm mortified and can't get this dress off fast enough.

This is _The Twilight Zone_.

...

 _I want to see you._

He texts at the most inconvenient moment. I'm in my head all day Monday at the office. The weekend was surreal.

How the heck did I manage to get a modeling job for a damn magazine? How is it that my world has spun into this non-stop crazed web, all in the span of this visit in New York? Concrete jungle, where dreams are made... or nightmares.

Worst part is lying in bed and then your brain gets going. _How much_ would _it be for the modeling job?_

 _Jesus. No. Stop it._

Sleep came, but it was restless. Kate still holds the business card in her wallet. She waits. She anticipates the moment I ask for it, to make the call. She says she's my manager now. She stopped bringing it up when I gave her a death look.

At one point today, Townsend walks by our deskpod and smiles. I haven't seen him all weekend. It felt like longer. He's like a shiny new nickel. It takes a moment for me to react. I just stare at him with my embarrassing stalker hawk eyes.

He stops in his tracks, looks behind him, then points at himself. "Me?" he mouths. He walks up to me and runs a few fingers over my cheek.

"You feeling well?" he asks.

His touch is soft. I imagine all the ways he could be soft. I should do it. I should just go nuts and jump his bones, push him into the copy room right behind him and shut the door. But then, the memory of sparks makes its way through my limbs like a reminder. I shake my reverie away. I smile like a lunatic. The red rises up my neck like a plague.

"Have dinner with me," he says, so simply and matter of fact. That's when the inconvenient text comes in. I do this awkward double take where I look down at my phone and still try to look like I'm listening.

 _I want to see you._ Masen.

I look up at Townsend. His faint dimples taunt me. I don't know how I never noticed the fucking dimples until now. Maybe my rule of not looking at anything else but his mouth held me back from enjoying said dimples, framing the manly, handsome face still looking back at me. He waits for my reply.

"Bella." Kate interrupts from the desk beside mine. She's looking back and forth between me and him. Her eyes saying, "What the fuck?"

Why is she always there to be nosy? I'm so done with this interfering bullshit from the entire weekend.

"You know what? Yes," I tell him out of spite and definitely out of want. "I'd love to." Kate's shoulders drop, and it's like I can hear them. John hides behind his monitor.

Dimples appear again. Townsend curtly bends at his waist a bit and walks backward down the hall, hands behind his back.

Adorable.

I walk away, thumbing my phone and send a quick reply with trembling hands.

 _Work dinner tonight. Raincheck?_

Even I know that sounds fake.

This is me avoiding the inevitable. I'm not ready to see him again. Feelings are too intense when we're together. Some of me feels bad, but most of me says, "Let him suffer." So I do.

I'm getting dressed for the night, and I realize I'm looking at my phone too much. He never replied.

Kate watches TV on my bed, but I'm feeling like she came just to glare at me. Every time I look over, she's staring back.

"Stop it. It's no big deal."

"Is it?" she asks. I sigh.

"I'm just... I need time," I tell her. She knows what I mean. She's quiet. "Kate, I want... to see, even for a night, what it feels like. I want to see if there's something I'm missing. Can I do that? Do I need permission?"

She's still quietly munching on a bag of chips. I blabber on as I tuck in a sleeveless blouse and button it to the collar. I'll just do jeans to bring it down a notch.

I continue to make my case. "I mean, if you were in my shoes, wouldn't you be at least a little bit curious? It's _Town-_ to-the-fucking- _send_ we're talking about here!" I finish off the tuck. I stand, arms spread trying to lighten the fucking funeral here. "It's not a crime, remember?" I use her words.

She's thinking, but her defeat is clear.

"First of all," she says, "I can't be in your shoes since they're gone and your new ones don't fit." I roll my eyes. "But, yeah. He's a lot of... curious things even _I_ would like to know about. Can't pass this up. I want a full report on what his deal is. Just wear the dress."

I furrow my brows.

"Don't argue. I got it for you. And the bra. And a lot more for me. So shut up. Put it and the damn shoes on. If you're gonna be bad, go all out, skank."

I raise my arms in victory.

She bounces up. She rolls her eyes but smiles. She pulls on my hair to blow dry it. I secretly hoped she would. She's so good at that.

Of course he kills me. Townsend's outfit, his hand gingerly at my back, and his everything just kill me. He leads me down the crowded streets, and it's easy talk. He pulls me clear away from potholes and watches for sidewalk steps and haste cabs, all with grace and a strong hand. He keeps his full attention on me and what I'm saying until we snuggle up in a table by a window.

He waited for me in the hotel lobby, spiffed up and ready to fire at my lady bits with a single smile.

Kate sent me off with a sloppy Cheetos kiss, and now we're here. I'm nervous as shit.

We're looking at the menu when he nudges his shoe to my new ones under the table. I look up.

"Hi," he says. I blink.

"Um, hello?"

"I've told you all the things I'd do to you on this very table, and you didn't even look up. How can I get into that head of yours?"

I redden. "I'm sorry." I laugh a bit too much. I calm down before I snort. "It's been a long week." I smile. "But we're here, and I'm glad."

"It's Monday." His brows knit, but he's smiling. He leans his temple on a few knuckles, like he's trying to figure me out.

"Oh, right. It is. I guess, long day, then?" I try to correct. Wow. This is going smoothly.

"Never mind that. Now, tell me. What is it you said about the things you'd do on this table?"

He scoots closer and chuckles. His arm goes over the back of my chair, and he's relaxed.

"Well, let's see," he begins. His fingers trail a few locks around my ear. I feel it everywhere. "There's the appetizer, of course. That could go on for, say, twenty minutes. Easily."

I bite my lip.

"Then there's the entrée. I like to take my time with the entrée, especially when it's in Paris and they're bite-sized courses elongated to three or five. Those are most enjoyable. Lots to explore and... savor."

Shit.

I don't know what to say. I nod dumbly, like this is a business deal, and cross my legs. I hope for the best. Help me, God.

"But you know..." he continues. I hum, enthralled. I watch his lips. His hand slips to my knee where his eyes go. One finger circles a kneecap and pulls away.

I take a long breath.

 _Are you there, God? It's me, Margaret._

"Dessert is special. I rarely take it up, but when I do, it's really because I like the companionship and definitely know it'll go all night."

I take a hefty gulp of my cocktail.

"Need another?" he whispers by my ear, his voice smug.

I grin and roll my eyes. "So full of shit."

He laughs. The vibration off his chest pressed to my arm is subtle but present.

The waitress arrives. She takes our orders and takes the empty glasses away.

"So, tell me. What's a fine man like yourself doing here and not, say, in France having that savory meal?"

He shrugs slightly. The vibe is mingling and light between us. It's... nice, uncomplicated. He's great company.

"I wanted to try my hand at some form of social justice," he begins. "This is a subtle way, but really, you're still helping people make changes to a very hard-coded society and business rules. And..." he says pausing. "I feel like this is an interview."

I chuckle. "Well, with that answer alone, I'd hire you." He shows an act of relief. "But should I be worried? Really? Will I soon be shuffling through resumes to fill your role?"

He sighs, looks over the restaurant. "Not anytime soon. I've... found a reason to stay." He looks over. His eyes crawl up to my awaiting ones.

I smile. Heat. I attach my hand to the new tall glass the waitress dropped by and take a swig so I won't die.

Sweet. Cranberry and refreshing. Almost too refreshing. I could easily gulp it down. I take another drink, and I down a third of it. No alcohol. I stare at the ice swimming inside.

Townsend's fingers find my nape, and mine find the ink scribbled on the napkin wrapped around the glass.

 _Aren't you going to ask him about breakfast?_

I tense.

The blood drains from my face. I look around, trying to find him, the one whose handwriting I could spot a mile away. My eyes are frantically scanning the room.

"So it's really a matter of knowing if I should stay or if I should go." Townsend continues to speak. I glance at him, but I'm searching from under my lashes.

The crowd that just walked in finds a spot at the bar... exactly where Masen sits watching me from yards away. He isn't hiding. It seems he's been here a while. He probably watched us walk in, get settled, all of it.

His hand is wrapped around a drink, the other by his lips. The bar is tall, and his elbows lean by a smoky ashtray. I can't help taking in his full height, from sharp shoulders to cuffed slacks over polished shoes. A suit. The collar's relaxed under a tie.

My eyes narrow.

He would be close enough to listen if you were trying hard enough. It's a cozy restaurant and bar; great crowd, great music, and great food. It's what Townsend said when we walked in. What he didn't say was it has great conversations for eavesdropping, too.

"Really," Townsend begins again. "Just one thing holds me back. If it's worth the pursuit, I say one should give all the passion they possess on that one person and know it'll work... magically."

I'm looking into those gray eyes, and I know what the words mean. I've known that passion for a long time, but it failed at the end. So how does it begin to mend again?

I nod. I feel his hand twine in mine on the tabletop. Masen breaks the trance we seem to be locked in. He looks at that. Someone beside him turns to speak to him. He's not alone. Both of us looking away from our companionship; his is business, and mine is personal.

"I know what you mean," I tell Townsend. "That passion... for years. But for someone else." I look back at his full grinning lips, so close to me. He nods understanding. He looks at our hands and lets go of each finger until we're not touching. I let the moment linger.

The restaurant is buzzing. Music begins to play, and everything is dark and so alive—everything but this tense moment, this heaviness in my heart. All the feelings come rushing back. Again.

The waitress arrives with plates and smiles sheepishly at me. Through the entire meal, I'm being watched. The weight of those eyes on me. Every inch. These familiar shoes on my feet. I grow red. I curse Kate for making me wear them.

Townsend, of course, is completely oblivious. His hands are daring. They touch. They're trying me out, getting a reaction I don't give back. I can't. I try, but not with all of this...

I push at food under the dim lights, listen to him talk. I twirl my fork that catches the lights. I stare at that, at the band. The lights. The singer rhyming about sorrow and missed opportunities.

Yet, nothing— _nothing—_ can stir me from the gorgeous and changed man at the bar, the one who would not be so still. The one who would've come over long ago to interrupt and barge in, patronize and sarcastically say this or that just to tear at me. But, no. He takes a swig of liquor and lets the liquid coat his lips, throat, as he swallows with ease.

He's patient. He waits.

My hands shake.

"So, who's the lucky man who caught your heart?" Townsend suddenly asks.

Alarmed, I cut my eyes to his. I stare dumbly, waiting for a hint, for him to call me out on this, but he doesn't seem to suspect what's happening here.

The plates are gone. The music is soft after a long, loud set. The break pushes patrons to focus on their dates again. I suddenly don't want the attention back on me.

I shrug. I fidget but try not to. "Someone. In the past," I tell him.

"How far in the past?" he insists. I look at him. He dips his head and regards me deeply. He knows of whom I speak of. He plays this guessing game.

"Far enough," I respond curtly.

"How many years of the feeling?" he asks. This is killing me; a pang in my chest.

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"That passion... for someone else," he says, paraphrasing. I can tell he's been thinking about this all through the meal.

I glance over at the bar. Masen looks over at the same time—like he knows, holding his breath, waiting, too. He watches intently. Gray eyes blink slowly, traveling up from my legs to the tip of my hair, taking me in.

Calm but for the storm inside.

I finally speak. "Far too long for one girl to take. Excuse me." I stand.

Townsend looks up. He quickly leaves his chair to see me off to the restroom like a gentleman would. I quickly walk past the bar.

Maybe if I make it in time, no one will see my nose already turning red, but I only get to the pathway toward the restrooms. I hear those weighted footsteps catching up, following behind without hesitation.

Despite my speeding heart, I let him. He catches my arm, pins me to the wall, and I let him say what I know he came to say. I brace for words of hate, but I've got nothing but things to tell him, the kind that sting. He doesn't own me. All isn't fixed. But he presses himself to me and doesn't say anything.

I'm taken aback. I look up.

His lips descend. It takes the breath right out of me.

My automatic-driven limbs attach right to him, around his neck, reaching up on toes to part my lips and let him in. Completely.

I grab his face and pull him away. "I lied," I say before Masen speaks.

He nods. He crashes onto my lips again.

I gasp for air after a long moment of tasting his lips, tongue, everything. "I needed time." I pant. I tried to add that before he shut me up again with a kiss.

What are we doing? People are walking by, and these love-struck fools stand in the way. I pull air through my nose, and all I get is a lung full of his delicious cologne.

When has he ever worn cologne?

He leans away. The way he looks at me... Dizzying. I can barely keep my eyes open. I hang on for dear life as he caresses the apples of my cheeks. I suddenly have nothing to say. Where are the words that should mutilate?

He skims my lips with a thumb, erasing those words. His expression is of longing, desire, not a smear of dominion.

I wrap a hand around his throat and squeeze. "This doesn't change anything." His neck tenses when he leans just so. He bites my lip slowly.

My waitress walks by to get to the kitchen. One look, and her eyes widen at the sight. She quickly walks away with a grin. I push at his arms to let go but to no avail. His lips are back again.

I frantically pray Townsend can't see us. But soon, I'm letting my eyes close, letting the warmth wrap around each limb, just like my leg around his thigh. His hand slithers there, slipping beneath my dress, this fucking garment he paid for with his money. I taste his plump lip eagerly, the one I'm accustomed to attach myself to.

The passion? Oh, I remember. Vividly. This is how it always felt, no matter the length of time in between.

He lets go of my mouth but nothing else. I search blindly for his lips again. He holds fast. I have no choice but to open my eyes. "Tomorrow night, the night after that, and all the rest after... They're mine," he says to me.

"Yup." I stare at his lips, panting softly.

"Have fun," he says before another searing kiss and a firm squeeze of my ass. Our lips slip off soundly. I'm off the wall and following until the very last pull as he lets go.

I stand here, fingertips to my lips, watching him walk out the door; knees like jelly and attempting to keep the life in my lungs.

I hear a whisper to my left. I jump.

"You have a, uh..." The waitress points at her lips and hair, then at me.

I run to the restroom to straighten out.

 _No, no, no._ That didn't happen. I had control tonight. This was my night.

Mine.

I shake my head, shake off my hands that still feel him. _No._ All is fine. I'll go back to Townsend, and he won't suspect a thing. I wash my hands. Then I wash them again.

 _Fuck_.

I stop to lean on the sink when I can't stand. My legs are a trembling mess. My thighs press together with the ache. All the memories are back again. I breathe and breathe, and nothing has felt this alive in so long.

Who am I kidding? How could I have ever doubted? And what the hell do I do now?

...


	26. Chapter 26 - Close

**A/N: At an appointment with sis, for sis. 5 hours in a crummy hospital chair, balancing a laptop, while I'm cramping on my second day. So, here you go, another (short) chap you can file under, "WTF was that? I hate this fic." I'm gaining sooo many fans. LOL. But I hear ya, and I get it, and I love that there is love and hate for these characters. I think I love and hate them, too. Thanks for your honestly. Let's get these two slowly together so we can move on with life** ** **(or at least mine),** shall we?  
**

 **Happy almost Friday.**

* * *

 **Chapter 26 - Close**

I slam the door and lean on it, shoes dangling from my fingers. I launch them across the floor and pull my hair over my face to cover it with bunched-up hands. I scream a little and fall over the bed.

Someone's knocking at the door. I jump up. I straighten and look through the peephole. It's Kate with a bottle of wine in hand and two Solo cups.

I let her in.

"So? How was it? I want to know everything, because I'm bored with a man who's asleep in bed and not fucking my brains out right now."

I sit on the bed again. I play dumb and shrug. "It was fine. All fine. Everything was lovely, and the food was good, and all was… fine." I clear my throat.

She stops pouring a heaping portion into a cup and looks at me.

"Are you fucking kidding me? I didn't take an hour blow-drying your hair and dealing with your shit so you can come here and tell me it was _fine._ Start talking. Now."

I sigh. "I mean it. It was fine. Everything was fine," I repeat on a loop.

I fidget.

"Up until, you know, I made out with Masen by the bathrooms like a dirty, filthy porn star. And all while Townsend waited at the table. I'm a two-timing whore!" I dive onto pillows.

Kate screams for joy. Wine splatters everywhere. She's cross-legged on the bed and jumping.

"Oh, my God! That's the best plot twist a sucker for romance could ask for!"

The pillows muffle my screams.

"How in the hell, woman?" She's practically screaming the words.

I tell her moment-by-lip-sucking moment.

"Every night after that? He said that?" She falls back. "Man, I didn't know he was that intense. Why didn't I fuck him before you did?" she says. I glare.

"Because he's mine!" I gasp and slap my mouth shut.

Her eyes go big. She dies laughing. She rolls and rolls on the bed until she falls over onto the floor. It goes on for a good half hour.

I just sit here, red and rage inside.

"What was _that_?" she shouts from the carpet below.

I shake my head. "I don't know what just happened," I argue. I don't know anything. Not yesterday. Not tonight. Not ever. She doubles over again. I roll my eyes.

"Fuck off," I spit. Then my shoulders are bobbing along with hers. I kick her out of the room, her laughter loud the entire way out. It's an off night, and I need to be alone.

The shower pounds down on me. I don't see tiles or soap or steam, just him. I'm a walking zombie until I climb into bed. It's pitch dark but for the images of his eager hands and mouth, like once upon a time before our lives parted. It takes all of me not to rush out of here to find him.

Damn him for what he did, what he knew he was doing. And me for falling for it. I let out a growl and stare at the ceiling. I tumble over sheets until I find comfort and sleep.

Tuesday isn't any better. I'm daydreaming when I'm not looking over the streets, wondering if he's walking around. I'm hoping I run into him, grab his hand, and skip work for the day.

Townsend is sweet but hesitant at work. After the kiss last night, I was a mess. He could tell something was off. We paid the bill and left. We were in the lobby when he kissed the back of my hand, the one that gripped Masen's hair just minutes before. He left, and that was that. I think I'll definitely need to fill his position soon.

I take the elevator down to the street after work. Masen is standing there.

My excitement is tangible. I suppress it.

Kate grins and lays a hand on his arm as she passes by. She leaves us. He looks at me, fire in his eyes as he extends his hand for me to hold. I do without question. Might as well. This is going straight to shit now. I've given in.

We walk down the streets quietly. For blocks, his greeting is in a form of soft lingering kisses on the back of my hand. It's a different man doing the same gesture; only this time, it blossoms in my belly, making me nervous, excited, and breathless.

"Hungry?" he asks, relaxed and calm. I sigh contentedly. I've missed this, us. We were a great team.

"Very."

We settle in a comfortable silence. He looks both ways before crossing streets and pulls me close. I watch him. His confident strides and ease navigating down the busy sidewalks are fascinating. He shuffles his steps to keep me on the safe side, away from other pedestrians and bumping shoulders. He always did take charge of everything he did.

He stops by a street stand and waits behind a lengthy line.

"Trust me?" he asks. I look toward the front. I see the chaos of many people waiting for tacos. Our aim is a small and humble stand that's piping steam and has workers moving quickly.

I look up at Masen. "Of course. I love tacos. Seems like these are good."

"The best." He grins. "I'm going to show you all my favorite places."

I bite my lip to contain myself from smiling silly big.

He chuckles low to himself. "What?" I ask.

"I was always in search of places to eat. I don't cook, so I had to or I'd starve."

I smile. "So, what you're saying is that brunch from the other Saturday was all purchased?"

His shoulders drop. "Fuck. I'm an idiot. Corner deli. I hid all the bags down the trash chute."

I giggle and knock his shoulder with mine. I dare to. I lean into him and wrap an arm around his. I blink slowly when I feel his warm lips linger on the crown of my head.

We're up in line. He takes charge of the ordering. The workers are loud and obnoxious, but he's shameless and concise. He catches me staring as we wait for our order. He winks and steps up to grab the hot pouches from a worker. I redden and try not to melt right into a drain close by.

We sit by heavy pedestrian traffic and people-watch as I munch on the world's best tacos. I can't take it. I groan. He looks over and chuckles around a bite.

He reaches over to give me a bite of his that's different; spicy and citrusy. I hesitate, but he insists with a hum and a nod.

His eyes are on my lips when I lean in. The flavors explode on my tongue. I groan and close my lids. This is better than any fancy restaurant you have to dress up for. Fingers, napkins, and a drink are all you need.

"Dude, I've been missing all of this? What in the heck?" I protest, mouth full. He laughs and throws his head back. I watch him and realize that maybe you'd also need a great companion, preferably one so good-looking.

When he sobers, he catches my stare. We stupidly linger there, nursing the feeling. He pops a finger over to wipe at my lip. I redden.

I rush for a napkin as he continues eating, licking his fingers dry, index first, his jaw going. His sleeves are pulled up, his arms leaning on bent knees. Crazy how street food can be this captivating to watch when he's involved.

I flush all over.

We don't say much. It's not like we need to. Just being together is enough. The streets are loud with people. An open market lines the road we walk onto, so we shop around. He finds this hideous baseball cap, and that's when I know he hasn't changed much.

"It's already broken in," he argues, bending the bill. I reach up and slap it off. I pull on his arm. He just chuckles behind me.

"You've been doing great. Don't ruin it," I say, tugging him along like a tugboat.

"You like what I've been wearing?" He gives me a look.

I don't need to look at his attire. I've been watching him for an hour now. The way he moves and looks in his jeans. The shirt that looks like he purchased it elsewhere, not at Walmart. His leather jacket I could slither my hands over and commence to devour his exposed neck. Leather shoes, not ugly sneakers, on his feet. Oh, I've looked.

"Who's been dressing you, anyway?" I ask instead of answering him. He smirks.

"You like it."

"I asked a question," I point out.

He makes a face. "Sam, I guess. And this girl at the studio."

I kind of stop in my tracks and look back at him.

He ignores the pause and keeps walking, a smug grin playing at his lips. Touché. I see how it feels now, questions forming and riling me up. I don't ask. To my relief, he continues to speak.

"She and her _husband_ have a family-owned tailor business," he enunciates. I roll my eyes. "She gave me the contacts and told me to grow up, basically. I guess my attire wasn't great for PR or whatever. Sam just looked at me with disgust every time I'd meet him. I never see him without a suit on." He shrugs.

"Thank God for small miracles… and tailors," I say. He nudges me. His arm comes around my head for a quick lock. I laugh.

"Well, you look good," I mumble after a block of walking silently. Too good. I don't look at him.

"Does that explain the odd shopping spree you lavished me with?" I sneak a peek at his face. "Your newfound love for… fashion?" I tease, but I really want to know.

He's sheepish. He shakes his head a little, trying to find the words. He's kind of red all over.

"That bad, huh?" He scrunches his nose.

I shrug. "Surprising," I say.

"Nah. That was just a stupid suggestion from this guy at work and an overly dramatic 'I owe you' for the shoes. Lesson learned. Never get pointers from guys, let alone single ones."

It takes a moment, but he smiles to himself. "Did you at least enjoy it?"

I look away. This time, I smile. "Well… Maybe you should ask Kate. She took advantage of it more than I did. I only got a bra." And a dress he's already seen, but I don't say that part. "Don't worry. I'm having her return everything."

"That little shit," he says chuckling. He shakes his head. "Ah, well. Guess she deserves it, with all the bullshit I've put her through. I've bothered her too much. She's probably sick of me."

Curious, I ask, "When did you bother her?"

He's hesitant for a second, but he's smiling with embarrassment. He bites his bottom lip. It reminds me of how he bit mine. I hold myself together.

"When I found out you were in New York and when I wanted you to see the gallery. I probably drove her nuts."

"Oh." I think on this. "So, you wanted me to see the photos."

He looks down at me like I have two heads. "Of course. It was my best work and you looked… still look…" He shakes his head. "I wanted you to see how unbelievable you are."

We walk silently for a while. I let the blush settle. His words, his praise—they always set this fire off, making me feel big.

"A bra, huh?" he says suddenly. He bites the inside of his cheek, all smug and trying to keep the smirk at bay. He fails.

I roll my eye and scoff. "The one detail…"

He looks down at me like he has x-ray vision. "What color?"

I elbow him hard. He has to catch his footing and chuckles low.

"That's not all I got, by the way. I got a number." His smile turns to a skeptical look. "You're looking at the new potential model for a spread on _Vanity Fair_."

He furrows his brows.

I grin. "This magazine editor recognized me in Saks and gave me her card. Weird, huh?"

He looks far away, over the sidewalk and street, lost in thought. "Wow," he says. He looks proud.

For a long moment, he just watches me as we walk. "Will you do it?" he asks.

I shrug. I can't speak. I thought he would laugh at the incredulousness, but he's serious.

"I know her, you know. She had a project with the studio for some photo shoots. I can make it comfortable, get you in there. We can take the shots."

I laugh. "Right! That's ludicrous. I would never… It's hilarious she would even come up with that."

"Not even if I took them?" He watches me.

I sigh. How did we make this turn? But just imagining him with a camera in those hands of his kind of does something to me.

"You don't see yourself, do you? Everyone sees, but you." He rolls his eyes. "You're gorgeous, Bella. It's a wonder why so many men follow."

Instantly, I remember what he said once, on my couch, trailing his finger over my skin. He said those words, "Drive men wild." Lies. Apparently, all men but the one I want.

Said man walks silently beside me with his hands in his pockets, and all I want to do is hang on for dear life, pound my fists on the pavement, and plead for him to fight for me above all other men.

"It bothered you… last night," I say.

His jaw goes sharp. It relaxes again. He licks his lips. "Did it bother you?"

I don't expect that answer, but I know what he means. I ask myself if it did. His presence. His patience. That change in him. Then the knee-buckling kiss. No. Those things didn't bother me. They ignited something in me. They woke me. I've decided.

I peak at him from under my lashes.

He finds my eyes. "Like hell," he answers my question. I look away.

"But it's your choice, your life. I won't interfere… or try my damn hardest not to." He guiltily refers to the kiss. "And it was obvious. You never were good at hiding your feelings. Anything he said rolled right off you. You looked terrified."

I'm appalled. I scoff. "How are you so sure?"

"Because there's one thing I know like the back of my hand, for years now, and that's you."

I swallow heavily. All I can do is sigh, breathe, swallow the tears. I look over the streets and keep them at bay again and again. It takes a few more tries.

I see his hand between us and remember that hesitance once… but not anymore. I slip my hand in his, fingers woven together, because regardless of it all, we're here and I've chosen him.

I always have.

He takes my hand and does what he does when there are no words left: he places a lingering kiss straight to my heart.

...

We don't speak until we're leaning over the railing, watching the sunset over the Hudson.

He's behind me, his cheek by my ear, his hand trailing invisible lines from my fingers to palm. When he gets to the left hand, his index follows the ring finger. It warms my limbs with the touch, but I still tense a little.

"Where is it?" he whispers. I bite my tongue. I look over the water.

He gets it when I don't answer. It doesn't hold him back from turning his head and skimming his lips over my cheek.

"Why did you give it to me?" I ask. He pauses for a beat, his sigh coming slow and soft.

"I couldn't find it in me to return it. I bought it for you. I thought you should have it."

"To have and to hold, or neither?" I feel him grin behind me.

"I don't know. I guess… I'm too much of a coward to make it clear."

"Why? What do you think I'll say?"

He hums. "Probably to fuck off. And then you'll run away." I push a laugh through my nose.

He's quiet, though. I dare to look at his profile. He's serious, sad even. I let him get out whatever's on his mind.

"Thing is… I don't want you to run. I never did."

"But _you_ did." It's a low blow, but I say it.

"Right," he admits. His eyes squint at the fading sunlight. "But it was only because I was… certain I'd ruin you."

I shake my head. "You're not able. It's not your job to ruin me; it's mine. There's no giving something up on presentiment alone. Your family history won't repeat itself, if that's what you're afraid of."

He buries his face in my hair. His nose skims my neck between strands. "How are you so sure?" he whispers.

"Because if you would've asked, I wouldn't have let you go." I tell him point blank.

He seems to freeze over, the regret palpable. I grab his hand regardless. I place it on my neck. His fingertips find the ring hanging on my necklace inside my trench coat. He rubs the warm metal, and then he wanders. The ring falls back in place, heavy on my chest, as his hand delves deeper into my shirt, right over my heart.

"Close enough," he says about the distance between the two. I try not to react when my chest warms up to him, too, so quickly, like we've never been apart. The words are true.

Again, I swallow thickly when he turns my head toward his. A soft kiss. He doesn't know I'd answer him right now, without fear or thought, if he dared to ask the question.

He doesn't.


	27. Chapter 27 - Leaving

**Chapter 27 - Leaving**

He's leaving. He was offered a freelance job. He'll travel all through the Middle East with a team of journalists whose works have been displayed in the media and in travel magazines. He wants to try his hand at this, to see if it's what he wants to do. It's exciting, and he's fortunate.

He tells me the news as we're sipping on coffee at Starbucks. He jogged the entire way to the hotel and woke me up with a text from outside. Giddy as can be, I complied and got decent enough in a wrap-knit sweater and yoga pants. I left the room bare-faced with a quick bun at my nape. He grinned when he saw me. One peck on my lips, and he didn't stop there. I shook him off, giggling, as he was making his way from my lashes to my nose.

It's like we can't be apart. Every waking moment he's there, hypnotizing me with his eyes and soft touches.

"When will you be back?" I ask. I dab a finger at the leftover crumbs from my scone. He takes my hand midair and dips the finger into his mouth. I narrow my lids. He pops a quick kiss on my wrist to soften the blow. I still don't like it when he steals my favorite bites. Now I'll just have to buy a new one and start over.

He's careful with his response. "Well, I'm not sure. Two or three months. It's a really long extensive trip to multiple countries." He stops talking just to watch me.

I try not to show my disappointment. "That's true. I'm sure it'll be a lot of work." I try to be nonchalant, but there's this sadness in me. Just when we're back to this, he has to go. Why does it always happen this way?

He reaches over to run his fingers over my cheek. I shift to lean on a palm and let him wander sweetly. This is me—always accommodating him. Anything to make him feel at ease so he won't run away.

"Will you miss me?" he whispers. I look past him, far out the window.

What does he want me to say? "Yes, and I'll wait right here until you're back"? Just when I think I've got him all to myself, he has to leave. But I'd be a horrible person if I said any of my thoughts that could ruin a lifetime opportunity. So, I smile like I always do and say, "Of course."

I feel like I've always waited on him. In the past, I yearned to get into his bones so he'd move and do, to get him to commit to us and dive right into this relationship.

I've carried the emotional aspect of this. I gave him attention, empathy, and patience, while he gave me headaches and some pieces of him he'd take right back. I'd starve from him. The moments he would give me were slip-ups, like he couldn't hold back anymore. I'd think we were finally getting somewhere just to have my heart ripped again.

It was exhausting.

It's definitely not the same now. I feel it. I see it in his actions. But I worry it'll eventually be like it used to be. When will he slip away? I wait and wait.

It's Saturday, and just as he said, the night after that Monday, and all the nights after, have been his. We've met every evening after work for two weeks. I'd leave the elevator, and he'd be waiting for me. Every time, his hand would reach for mine, and every time, my heart would speed up.

Our time together becomes a catch-up game. We're dating, something we've never done together, and we're very good at it. He shows me a new place to explore, and I observe the change in him, his attentiveness and affection; things he's never showed before.

For the first time ever, I'm getting to know who Edward Masen really is. Our friendship is still there. Our wit and conversation are like they've always been. The difference is intimacy; the goal behind it is us.

I don't think he's ever had a serious relationship, so this is new to him. But he tries, and it's nice to see it grow.

But I'm patient. I wait for the moment he responds to what I told him that day in the train station. I wait, and it never comes in moments so perfect they pass us by. On the ferry, the wind thrashed our hair left to right, his arms were around me, and his fingers caught the flying locks as he looked at me... But nothing. I wanted to yell it, for Lady Liberty to hear it, as well. Everyone.

I begin to wonder if the words will ever slip through lips I love so much. I tell myself maybe it isn't the right time—let us be together more to solidify whatever is happening here—but I can't help but feel like he'll do what he's used to doing: leave me hanging when I've given my entirety.

At the end of every night, he walked me back to the hotel and kissed me by the elevators. "Sweet dreams," he'd say. I melted and watched the doors shut. Then I was back to thinking on this waiting game.

Now he's leaving, and New York isn't home for me. I won't be here long. How does this work? Will this be a pattern? Will this become a long-distance relationship? I tell Kate my thoughts, and she tells me to cool it, to take it one step at a time. I guess my waiting room is too packed, and I'm trying to find the exit, because why give a woman a ring and not say the words that go with it, for crying out loud?

Later that morning, after Starbucks, we walk hand in hand again. The studio where he works is all white-washed walls and trendy furniture in cozy nooks. A receptionist sits on a couch, a non-conventional seat. She smiles and waves us over. Her clothes are bright and loud. Her personality's the same; feet bare, blonde hair, and bulky-framed glasses. She looks frazzled and rushed. She leaves us to ourselves.

He wants to show me how he spends his days. "Everything," he said. I take it all in.

Assistants roam around getting things, setting up a shoot for a client. He walks in, and he's got all of their attention. They're panicked. The creative director and photographer aren't in. Their flight is delayed. A few of them have him by his arm and thank the heavens he's here.

"I'll have your equipment set up in five minutes," the thin, black-clothed, nervous young assistant tells him in a rush.

Masen looks back over at me. I wave a hand, and he mouths, "Twenty minutes." I stay out of the way and watch him become this other person. No doubt he's taken by surprise, but like everything else, he takes charge and looks over the model. She happens to be a familiar face. I can't place her. Maybe a movie.

I'm standing off to the side, jacket on my arms, watching this unfold. He runs a few fingers down her robe that's open at her front. She's bare underneath but for her dark tights. His gentle motion but strong hands are intriguing to watch at work; that delightful contrast of hard and soft. He's lost in thoughts of creative license, fanning a few locks of her hair toward her front.

He instructs her on what he wants to see, and she nods. He stands back and takes a few shots, but they aren't right.

He switches off lights around the set, and the prettiest natural light comes in from the windows. Shadows darken. He looks around for something. Assistants stand by at his demand, curious. He turns in a circle and catches my eyes. Quickly, he rushes over.

"Your earrings… May I?" he asks palm up. They're gold hoops with speckles of diamonds Mom and Rose pitched in to give me one Christmas. I pull them off and pass them over. I'm dumbfounded. He suggests the crew to add them to her look, or lack thereof, as she pulls off her robe. Instantly, it makes her look edgier.

I chuckle to myself and shake my head.

Click, click, click goes the camera, and everyone can tell it's a done deal. He's incredible.

"Why did you waste time union organizing when you were missing out on this?" I ask after. I know why, but I need his perspective again. He shrugs, sheepish.

"I liked organizing, and honestly, this all felt unreachable." He dabs a fingertip at one of the earrings back on my ear. "You were the inspiration. I didn't do much."

"Ah! You made her look like me." I laugh.

He thinks. "I did, didn't I?" He chuckles. "I guess you're always there in the back of my mind. I subconsciously go for something I care about." He looks over. I don't respond.

We find a restaurant for dinner. Sam's joining us. We wait for him at a table inside. The word "care" floats in my mind the entire time we silently sit and wait. This is when my irrationality kicks in. I want to yell it in his face. He's so frustrating. I try to let the anger go.

Sam walks in, and I'm struck. No wonder a woman like Masen's mother would be head over heels. He's handsome in a sharp suit. Dark hair and the bluest eyes I've ever seen stare back at me. He kisses my hand before he pushes my chair in.

It's subtle, but I catch it. He looks over Masen's attire, from shoes to dress jacket, and nods in satisfaction. It just makes him look like a proud parent. There's no mistaking the adorable way they hugged when they met, even before he noticed me.

Masen grabs my hand over the table. "This is my Bella I've told you about," he introduces me. I redden and smile politely. They both silently gaze admiringly for a stretched moment.

"It's… a pleasure finally meeting the man in Masen's life," I say to break the ice. They laugh.

"So, did you ever think you'd be this known to a large population in New York?" Sam asks. I flush knowing he's obviously seen the gallery photos.

"Certainly not in a million years." I look at Masen, who's a bit pink. "I'm just very glad Masen had so much help to be where he is. Thanks to you," I say.

Sam smiles. "I'd do anything for the woman Edward will one day call his wife. You're already family."

I'm speechless.

The waitress comes, and Sam busies himself with his late order. As he does, I focus on Masen beside me. He does what he does when he's smitten and kisses the hand he holds. He looks over at me where his cheek rests on my hand. My heart feels heavy wanting something more from him.

Nevertheless, dinner's lovely. We talk about Masen's mother and laugh at stories about Masen growing up. I intently listen to all the philanthropic work Sam does in New York. His wealth is self-achieved. He worked for every penny he has in real estate around the New York state. His next project is developing housing for low-income citizens of Harlem. I'm moved. It's like Masen was bred straight from his blood; the likeness is so strong, their hearts and passion the same.

I'm in love with Masen even more when it's over because of the way Sam paints him with such colors. Of all said colors, Masen was red the entire time. But this light in his eyes, inspired by Sam's words, he looked so proud.

Sam's called to a meeting, and he hops into a car waiting for him. He doesn't leave until he's offered an embrace and two tickets to a show for an evening we choose. "A gift," he said. "To the young and in love."

I'm taken aback.

It leaves me and Masen to wander the streets again toward my hotel.

We're quiet, and it's a little bit awkward right now. Something happened back there. I don't know what it was or what to make of it, but it solidifies this anger in me and how premature this all is. I was too eager, too greedy for his affection. Again, I've fallen with no rationality. I've given in too quickly. There was a lesson here I didn't partake. I'm ashamed, devastated, disappointed in myself.

We'd watched Sam leave from the sidewalk, and a woman and a few of her friends had passed by heading for the restaurant. Her height and looks were very much model-like and so familiar.

Saks.

One of the sneering tall ones from the department store paused on the sidewalk and looked at Masen, then at our hands locked between us. She sneered again. The look she gave him was deadly. No words were exchanged as she walked by. They weren't needed. He looked pale, and that was enough to let me know.

He doesn't say a word now. I don't, either. Because why should I? We were apart. He had his life, and I had mine. So I pretend like nothing happened just a few minutes ago with all my might. But seriously? A fucking model? A model he fucked? I breathe so I won't scream.

"That just about tore me apart. Missing my dad… You're lucky," I tell him about Sam. He nods.

"Love that guy," he says easily with a soft grin. My throat catches. I swallow heavy. It bubbles up inside me. It's quick, and I can't hold it back any longer. It just slips out.

"Do you… love me the same? More? At all?" I dare to ask. His strides slow. He looks over at me, brows furrowed.

"What?"

I shrug. He tugs at my hand when he stops walking. I don't look at him.

"I mean… I don't know. You haven't said. I wonder. Everyone seems to know, even that leggy brunette back there." There's heat going through my veins.

"Bella." He tries to catch my eyes. "Look at me," he says.

I do look at him, but his mouth opens. He's about to do it now.

"Don't you dare." I point at him. "Not now, not this second. My response will not be the same!"

His lips seal shut.

"But answer me this. Why are you so afraid? What is it?" I ask.

"I'm not," he says defensively.

"You are, just like always. I have you, and then I don't. We're here, and I still don't. What do I do to make you love me? Fully and completely?"

He shakes his head confused.

I don't let him speak. I lift the ring around my necklace with a thumb. "This, with no words attached… What did you expect me to do with this? Do we marry, have kids, and maybe someday the subject will come up? How long do I have to wait? Or is this just temporary?" I wave a hand between us. "Do I have to prepare for more heartache? Please tell me. I can't take the suspense. I'll leave right now and get a head start, if that's the case."

"Bella, what is this?" He shakes his head. "I thought… We were doing great."

I nod. "For now. I leave for home. You'll be… gone. You'll fall in love with your job, someone else. And I'll be… What? Waiting?"

He goes red with anger. "I wasn't expecting the job. I wasn't expecting this." He takes my hand and tugs it between us. "But I do know this is it, no matter your past or mine." He points a thumb over his shoulder. "Things that do not matter to me, not remotely as much as you. I've told you this. I want you."

"Then show me. Ask me properly, or I'll die from this!"

Passersby look our way. We've gotten loud. But nothing keeps our gaze from breaking. He's saddened. The lines between his eyes show as he regards me.

"Tell me what you want." I let my arms fall at my sides. "I need a gesture from you. Give me something to hang on to, or I won't hang on at all. I won't. Not anymore."

He doesn't respond. He just takes a step back. And that action alone breaks my heart. This is him, just like always, retreating.

I turn to walk away before I witness anything else that'll break me completely.

….

There's banging at the door. It interrupts the thousandth time I pass a finger over the diamond. It startles me, like I've been caught. I crawl out of the hotel bed with all the wrappers and the TV remote scattered around me. I look through the peephole. Kate.

I open the door. She's holding her phone. She ends a call. "It's your mom. She's in the hospital."

My stomach drops. I immediately pull my bag out of the closet and dump everything in.

"Wait. You're leaving?" she asks.

"Well, yeah. It's mom. I should be there."

"But…" She sounds sad. "I don't want you to go yet. What about work? What about, you know, Masen?"

I stop. I look down at the ring on my finger. "I… I don't know. He's leaving, anyway. I can't now." She doesn't know what happened. I've stayed in my room since then. I'm too exhausted to talk it through.

Kate rushes to hug me. She kisses my cheek and looks at me. "Maybe you'll be back, right? John and I, we love it here. We're thinking of staying." I nod. It was so obvious. They fit here.

"I mean, yeah, I could come back, but who knows, right?" I tell her. She grins, though it's sad, and plants another smooch on me.

"I'll go with you to the airport."

I leave her crushed. John comes along and smiles smugly from outside the security line that's separated by a rope. He holds up a newspaper he picked up as if he were nonchalantly reading through it, but he holds it up by my face. I cringe and bat him away. There's a new spread in the Arts section. In the article, there's a picture of me and Masen making out on the streets of New York. The headline is about the infamous gallery love story finding a happy ending.

My heart dies a little.

Worst of all is seeing how fucking wonderful we look in the picture. The sun setting over the Hudson. His hand cradling the back of my head as he dips to get to my lips. Our lips. Pressed desperately together, like we've found one another blindly in the midst of darkness. His eyes so tightly shut, lost in it, like a relief; a desperate sigh. I hang on for dear life by his collar.

I grow red.

I snatch it out of his hands and roll it up. But of course, I'll read it later. I make it to the front of the security line with my head down.

If only the city knew how complicated and unhappily it ended. But I'm waiting, this time impatiently. I'm holding my breath. I need a gesture. A surrender. A hope. Anything to mend this heart caving under my chest.

...


	28. Chapter 28 - Sisters

**A/N: Now _I'm_ leaving. Going on a cruise to Bermuda. Wish me luck on that 'triangle'. **

**Posting this now since I have to pack later tonight and I won't have wifi on the trip (the tragedy). Sorry it's in the middle of the week, but then again, let's see how many go in bathrooms to read at work. I used to do that. hah.**

 **To Team 'I hate these characters' and to Team 'Meh, I'll guess I'll continue reading', I love you... more than anyone. I get your wants and thoughts. I think I learned a lesson here, though: Listen to your heart and instincts, don't write to appease hardcoded fandom etiquettes and desires. Trying to guide this back to place again.**

 **Thanks for reading and reviewing. Ending soon. I'll let you know.**

* * *

 **Chapter 28 - Sisters**

This isn't home. I don't know where the familiar feeling went. You're on a plane and watch Earth come to you under the wings, and you wheel toward familiarity. Your heart tells you everything will be just as it was. It should feel good. Calm. Piece of cake. But it doesn't. It isn't.

I wasn't ever the type to stray from Mom's wings. I envisioned staying by her side even if I did marry someday. I would've lived close and watched her as she got old. I would've kept her company since she doesn't have dad anymore.

But I have left, even if it was for just a month, and it was solely for love or lack thereof. I guess that's when you're brave. You'd sacrifice the knowing and comfort for a stranger, and all because it means something bigger than anything that's comforting and familiar. I gave it all up for… a man.

Now, home feels like failure. It didn't work out. All that effort for disappointment. I'll have to find that routine again. I'll stay by Mom's side for… the rest of my life. Fuck it. No more sacrifices. Maybe I'll buy a few cats, pick up knitting, eat bonbons in front of the TV and… die alone.

I sigh after smelling that old tinge of home in the air. Or dingy airport, probably. I'm being ridiculous. Who buys bonbons these days, anyway? It's all about the Cadbury chocolate. That's where it's at, right?

I see some in the Hudson News store by Arrivals. I get two of those, one for me and one for Mom. It's her favorite.

The moment I step into the hospital room, I remember what I'm supposed to be furious over, but there's no energy in me to fight or react.

All I see is Mom in a bed looking thinner than I left her, grays showing at her temples, the ones she'd never failed to hide under dye every few months. And then I see Rose and her baby bulge under a wide shirt. Her eyes are glassy and red. She leans on a few fingers that aren't rubbing the bump I see faintly making alien-like impressions under the light.

She straightens in her chair, eyes surprised when they see me. "Bella," she says, her voice tired but relieved.

I quietly find Mom's side. I hold her hand, drop my things by the bed, and reach with my other to cup her palm close. It's just as it always felt, the way it does when she'd pass a hand over my cheek.

I can't stop staring at her. My legs seem to lock. My eyes do the same.

The silence settles between us. So much so that Rose feels it, the tension, the awkwardness. Her shoulders visibly drop as she sits back. I sit by Mom and watch her breathing go in and out. Rose watches the sun setting outside the window.

"What happened?" I finally speak after a while.

"I tried calling you hundreds of times," she replies. "You've been ignoring her calls. Where the hell have you been?"

"You're really asking me that?" I say without looking back. She doesn't speak. But I do. "I have no energy, no tolerance or words I'd like to tell you right this second. All I did was ask a simple question."

"Her kidneys failed."

I nod.

God.

"Go home. I'll stay," I tell her. She looks ready to drop. I also want her to go away.

She's quiet for a moment. I can sense her watching, her hesitance. "You're not talking to me now?"

"I can't even look at you right now," I say right back.

Slowly and quietly, she moves. She grabs her purse, then her coat. She slips an arm in, then the other. The buttons clasp snugly over her bump. She looks very pretty, full, and glowing.

My sister.

Those arms that cared for me for years, guided and pushed things away that mattered to me, are now so hurtful, cunning. I don't know what to say. Then, I hear it—no mistake—that soft sniff she does when she's in silent tears.

She pauses at the door and looks back. I turn my head to look at Mom. Her eyes flicker, ready to wake.

I squeeze her hand. "Hey," I whisper. She blinks once, twice. She grins.

"My baby. So sorry," she says, her brows furrowing. And that's all it takes. I press my face to her neck and let the tears pour out endlessly.

The door is vacant when mom whispers, "Tell me everything." I tell her the terrible love story. Her eyes are far away, imagining everything.

…

"Mom. My God! Could you wait up for me?" I stand and grab her elbow.

Every time she has to relieve her bladder, the one task that's hugely important to her progression, she takes it upon herself to stand from the bed without assistance. Her ankles and feet are swollen, making it difficult. The dizziness is her enemy.

"Stubborn woman. I swear I'll put you in a home," I threaten.

Of course I would never. She's nowhere near the age to live in one. She's young and still gorgeous, capturing a few doctors' eyes. They visit often. She ignorantly oversees the gestures.

"I gave you life. I could end it," she snaps.

I roll my eyes but keep my mouth shut. It's her last straw. I can hear it in her voice. _Yes, ma'am_.

I wait by the door as she does her thing. After that, we settle back in place to continue that movie we found on my laptop from one of those illegal websites. She's into this now and watches bootleg versions all day. Her Cadbury is half-eaten and hidden in her night table.

I'm a bad influence.

Besides making the laptop run smoothly, my main duty is to steal mini cans of ginger ale and tapioca from the fridge down the hall.

It's been a week. I eat and sleep by her side. Some nights I spend at home, but then I rush here the next morning with breakfast. I know the hospital staff. I know the doctors and the records, including what tests will come next. Still, I haven't seen Rose.

Still, my heart is sore.

Mom talks to her on the phone every day. "She's on bed rest. Doctor's orders," Mom says. She goes on about her needing to rest and how, when the baby comes, she won't get enough sleep. Etcetera.

She talks about her to me like there are no issues. I get angry every time. This time, I can't take it any longer.

"Why do you keep doing that?"

"What?" She doesn't look up from the screen.

"Disregarding everything she's done, like it's completely acceptable."

"I never said it was acceptable," she says calmly. "I'm talking about my daughter, who is also your sister. I regard you both. End of story."

I roll my eyes. Of course a mother would catch that motion even if her focus is elsewhere.

"Bella…" she says in warning. I straighten my face and zip it. I've always been just a little bit afraid of her, even at this age.

We're quiet. We watch as Katherine Heigl learns to become a prairie housewife in _Love Comes Softly._ I'm struggling through the dramatic scenes. I sigh in frustration more than I find it tolerant. I waited for the previous movie to end. Oh, but no. There were more. A series, all titled similarly with "Love" enlaced in each. I roll my eyes again.

Then I can't help holding back that one tear that's been threatening to escape all morning. I woke up at dawn as it broke through the crease of the curtains. You can barely sleep in this place. Loud nurses walk about, waking up Mom to check vitals at all hours of the night.

How is anyone supposed to get better in here?

Frustrated, I walked to the cafeteria last night and sat for an hour, staring at the scones on the shelves, wondering where my life went wrong.

I'd give anything for him to steal my favorite bites right now. To be normal. In love. Honest. But he's not.

I cry silently watching _Katherine_ struggling. Just like her, I feel angry, desperate, and anxious. I can't do a thing to clear my head.

This has been the pattern all week. This has been torture, though today is special. Today he leaves for his adventurous lifetime opportunity.

Goodbye, Edward. It was terrible knowing you.

Mothers do know everything. I feel her hand slip into mine, like she knows. She doesn't look up. She just lends a hand. It's enough. I take a deep breath so I can start this cycle over.

Her doctor walks in. He's looking down at his clipboard, standing by the door. And suddenly, I go from tears to giggles. I hold myself back from laughing loudly.

Mom straightens in her bed and checks her robe. She flicks her hair over her shoulder before he looks up.

A chunk of gray hair decorates one side of his jet-black locks that are combed back neatly. When he smiles, wrinkles form at the edges of his dark eyes, like they were strategically drawn to soften his sharp edges. Perfect teeth and strong hands (no ring on that left one). Even I got a bit frazzled when we first met him.

Mom wouldn't stop smiling. When I look at her, I realize she still can't.

I hop out of my recliner. "Do you need anything from downstairs?" I ask her. She shakes her head but doesn't look at me.

"But get something to eat. You look… terrible," she says, waving a hand. I push a laugh through my nose and leave her alone with him.

But before I do, I make an obscene gesture behind him. Her eyes go big from over his shoulder. She blushes as he listens to her back with his sexy stethoscope.

He reminds her to breathe calmly as her pressure has suddenly gone up.

She grinds her teeth.

I run away.

I do my regular nods and smiles for every nurse passing by and hop into the elevator. The lobby is busy at this time of day, but when it's family, you pluck that one familiar person amongst the crowd like a magnet.

I watch as Rose makes her way from the entrance to the right wing of the hospital.

She sees me from afar. Her steps seem to falter, but she moves on.

I step in front of her when she tries to go around me. She's not fast enough these days.

"Liar," I say.

She rolls her eyes. "I have an appointment."

I cross my arms over my chest and block her from getting away.

"Why did you lie to Mom?"

Embarrassed, she shuffles her feet. "To give you space, all right? I'm tired, anyway. I've been with her every day while you were away. My fucking feet are hams. I pee every ten minutes, sometimes on myself. And I have heartburn crawling up my esophagus like lava. I needed a break," she finishes.

She stands there, disheveled for once, belly protruding. She's sweating, and her breathing is a bit labored. Pregnancy really does ground her.

I watch her as she avoids eye contact. "You alone?" I ask.

She sighs. "Emmett is finding parking," she says, adjusting her heavy purse that already looks like a diaper bag.

Of course he is. I get jittery as I also haven't spoken to him. I try figuring out how to hide if he appears as I watch her adjust her purse three more times. I reach over and grab it.

She sighs in a different way. Then she begins to cry.

"You hurt me," I say. It's the first thing I utter. "You played with my life, manipulated my happiness." I stop when I can't speak anymore.

Her breath hitches. She wipes her eyes with her knuckles. Her ring glimmers in the light. That makes me angrier. It's the one object I'll never wear freely with pride and love. Not anymore.

"I just want to know at what point did you think what you did… to us… was acceptable?" My voice fades.

Two crying sisters stand in a hospital lobby. Mine are angry tears, while hers are devastated. But I'm the one who should be devastated. My life is in ruins.

"I'm sorry. I… I tried to fix it." She flails her arms. "I figured if you'd go, you'd both talk and figure it out."

"What did you try to fix?" I want her to say it, admit it.

She lets her arms fall at her sides, and her head dips. A new round of tears slips down her cheeks. Her breathing is off. She's a mess.

I push her toward a sofa before she faints. She sits without argument. I roll a table in front of her and sit, blocking any escape.

After a moment, she looks at me sharp and determined. "I was angry. He was hurting you. He was in trouble, and I didn't want you involved in any part of it. I didn't want you to be hurt like I was so many times before by him.

"You're my sister. I would've done anything to protect you from people I've known for years," she says. "It wasn't supposed to go that way with you two. I didn't want that for you. You deserve more than a selfish moron who makes bad choices."

"So you threaten him to stay away and keep information from me? That was your solution?"

She sighs. Her shoulders visibly drop. "I just wanted him to leave you alone."

I nod. "And it almost tore me apart. You saw me every day with my guts out, and you didn't say a thing."

"Because I hoped you'd forget him!" she snaps. She closes her eyes.

I can't speak. I watch her squirm with every tense passing moment.

"I don't even know you," I tell her. The words get caught in my throat.

She sucks in a staggered breath and cries. I make to leave, but she grabs my arm and pulls me down desperately.

"But then I realized… how wrong I was and how in love you are."

"When?" I give her a look. "After you figured how convenient it turned out in Target that day? He was worthy then? _That_ was your realization? Not all the months I cried my eyes out and wondered what I did wrong?

"He sure as fuck is at fault, but it also wasn't up to you! And to think my sister knew about a baby and wouldn't tell me about it. I don't fucking know you!"

"I know. I was an idiot," she says, jumping in. "I couldn't even stand myself. I _had_ to fix it," she says with a shake of her head. "I didn't know how else."

"Honesty would've been nice. Launching me into the unknown all the way in New York was not an idea!"

She scoffs. "I never said it was a great idea. How the hell was I supposed to know he put up an entire gallery of your naked pictures, for fuck's sake? What is wrong with you two, anyway? I've never met a more perverted couple in my entire life!"

"Again, not your business." I point at her.

She rolls her eyes and lets the silence settle again.

I grow red regardless. "Mom knows?"

She gives me a face. My stomach drops. "She, on the other hand, thought it was just the most romantic…" She waves a hand, not wanting to finish that thought. "We seriously need to cut her Amazon book membership."

Maybe I'll never tell her about all the newspaper articles and the magazine modeling offer. I'll definitely tell Mom.

I begin to laugh. It comes slow, then my shoulders get going. She's hesitant as she watches me crumble.

"Wish granted. I couldn't even get him to tell me he loves me back. So, there. Mission accomplished. Congratulations," I tell her.

She blinks, no doubt in her eyes. "Oh, he does. He's been committed for years now. I know him well. He's just secretly afraid he'll screw it up. What he does is turn those words over in his thick head and takes his time, like every decision he makes in his life. But once he does…" She shakes her head. "Headlong."

I don't respond.

Right then, I see Emmett walk in. He sees us and lingers at the entrance to give us space.

"Do you still love him? Is that why?" I ask. I put it out there. She knows whom I refer to.

She swallows heavy, looks far away in thought. My stomach knots.

She chuckles. She wipes at her wet eyes. "No. I definitely never did. Maybe I thought I did once, but it was around the time I met Emmett." She looks back at him. "And once I did, I knew it was just me holding my breath for someone, anyone. I was in a bad place. I was in school and drowning. Dad died, and Masen was the only one who kept me afloat. I thought that was how love worked." She shrugs. "It was platonic. No intimacy. No spark. Just plain old friendship. And he would date and tell me about them so we could draw that line and make it clear."

They had their own purple couch moments. The difference is that mine were a little… more. I don't say anything to all she's said. I look at her as she rubs her bump and watches Emmett from far away. She glows.

"I need time," I tell her, to forgive and forget. She knows. She nods and frowns. She wipes at new tears.

"I'm truly sorry. I'm…" She pauses. "I love you. Maybe too much."

I stand and pull her up by an elbow when she struggles. I essentially hand her off to Emmett,

who smiles sheepishly.

"As an apology, I'm voiding your lack of attendance and extending that to… however many days you need," he says.

"Apology not accepted," I respond curtly. "I want dual directorial authority between here and New York, including a desk and a raise.

He looks surprised. "You liked it there?"

"I'd like to direct the team there, yes, as well as here." I shrug. "They… grew on me."

He extends a hand. "Deal." I narrow my eyes at the lightning speed acceptance, his intentions behind this. I decide it doesn't matter.

"Apology accepted." I shake on that.

I look over at Rose. "He smokes cigars on weekends." She looks at him. He looks at me, shocked, but knows exactly why I blurted. The last time he got in my business, I warned him, "I'll tell your dirty little secrets."

I walk away.

Payback's a bitch.

…

I'm home. Mom insisted I leave to sleep. I didn't argue. Yesterday was too much to bear. I told her about Rose and Emmett and confessed about the magazine and the modeling job. Now she won't stop asking me when I'll go back to book the job.

I regret it.

I wake and rush around to get my daily bag ready to go see her. This time, I'll bring her breakfast from the good deli that's farther away.

My usual "Hello. How are you?" is like a mantra as I lock the door to the apartment and see the landlord walking by. He's a cute old Greek man with mean eyes from downstairs. He leaves the empty apartment from across mine and stands there with a long face. It's awkward, and I'm never really sure if he hates me or wants to kill me.

I smile anyway. Just when I do, he quirks an odd grin when he tries to smile back. That's the only sign I know he likes me. I go ahead of him. No time for weirdness.

Dr. Hot Pants makes another trip to Mom's hospital room to set her up for another dialysis. I watch as he pampers her with extra pillows and stands around to watch the machine click and purr as blood is pumped in and out. She falls asleep. He watches her.

I busy myself with a book and try not to giggle.

It's not like he has to personally oversee the procedure. The nurses are missing in action as he insisted on making it just right.

He finally leaves because there's only so much you can do to find an excuse to stay when the person is not awake.

I ask the nurse who comes in after a little bit about him. "Where he's from? How long has he worked here? Is he single?" She laughs and looks at me oddly.

"No, no. Not for me. Just… asking for a friend."

She glances at Mom who's asleep and leans toward me like she'll tell me a juicy gossip. "He's usually off on Thursdays. And he's a widower. Years now. The hospital women have all tried but failed to, err, interest him."

Perfect. I'll be sure to stay away this Thursday in case he comes to visit. I have a feeling he will.

When she does wake up, I don't realize it because I've dozed off myself.

I hear shuffling and quiet grunts close by. My eyes pop open, and she's already out of bed and attempting to walk across towards the bathroom.

"Ma!" I shout. I scramble to her side and grab an elbow. Then another set of hands grabs her other side. I don't have the strength to keep her completely stable. I manage, but this time, her feet practically leave the floor.

We look up.

My heart seems to drop to my stomach. My legs feel like they'll give, too. I look into the clearest gray eyes as they stare back at me. Masen stands but a foot from me, arms wrapped around my mother, holding her, keeping her from falling.

He looks a bit pink. Mom and I look a bit pale, me in a whole different way. Blood seems to slowly drain from my face. I feel everything but nothing.

We stand here, frozen for a moment, not entirely present.

"You were asleep," he speaks. His brows furrow, revealing those lines I've kissed before. "I... waited here. I was going to wake you, but…" He shakes his head slightly. He blinks. Those lashes fan his cheeks just so, and his gaze finds mine again. "I love you. I'm in love with you," he says desperately. "I have been since…. we met, that first kiss. I had you close, and I never said how much. I'm a fool for not saying it every day. I've always been in love with you… and I'll say it a hundred times a day, if that's what it takes. I'm sorry it took so long to say…" His voice fades.

I stare and stare. My hollowed heart is filling up. It blossoms. Those wings of butterflies in my stomach get going. I can't find my breath. I watch lips that have said words that bind, and I feel it instantly. Pieces mend back up again.

"Oh," Mom says. She sounds just as breathless as I feel. Her hand finds her heart. "I'm sorry. Me or my daughter? I mean, I'm older, but I could handle you. With those words…"

"Mom," I say sharply.

Masen goes beet red as she slyly passes a hand over his chest. He smiles, embarrassed.

I carry her weight and rush her to the bathroom. She smiles over her shoulder. "Don't you go away now. I want to hear all about how much you love her." I practically close the door on her nose.

He's behind me. I stare at the door and lean on it. That weight of his eyes burning through is so significant. This feeling between us has always been consuming. My knees threaten to cave.

I turn to him. I watch as his chest moves under his sweater. The shawl collar is open at his neck where his throat bobs over and over. He looks...

I take a breath.

"Talk to me. Please," he says. He means it in more ways than one. Now and about everything.

Yes, I'm ready. But I stare and stare, and I've forgotten where I am. I'm reminded when Mom barges through the door, a wide smile on her face, ready and set to make the rest of this day… interesting.

...


	29. Chapter 29 - Snow

**A/N: I can't even remember how to post it's been that long. I'm sorry. I'm alive. The cruise was bumpy and uneventful and now summer is almost over. Another thing that's almost over is this story. Ending next chap. ;-) It's been real, gang. Ya'll had me at every chap. Ya'll had me at hello. Rob's platinum locks had me at a theater with a creeper behind me on a Monday night. Srsly, did you watch it?**

 **Love you. Enjoy.**

* * *

 **Chapter 29 - Snow**

I'm so taken by this. Watching. Captivated. In awe. Like you're watching something unfold that was a dream once, twice, hundreds of times before. You're casually sitting with your mother and watching her fall in love with the person you brought home. You're speechless they've hit it off. Instantly, you know this is it. Jackpot. What else is missing?

Ah, yes. Everything. We're still hashing this out.

But he came home. He followed. He came to me and said those words.

Awe.

All evening, I watch him smile down at Mom from the other side of the bed as they talk about… I don't know. I can't pay much attention but for his long fingers patting her hand where she grabbed on and hasn't let go. His forearm is relaxed on her bed, sleeves bunched at his elbows, a shiny watch on his wrist wrapped around those tensing tendons that run along his knuckles, neat nail beds that weave through his unruly hair as he converses.

She's touched that, too. She fussed, and he leaned in so she could curl her fingers through his "gorgeous, thick hair" and straighten the mess he created from worry and anxiety.

He smiled sweetly and kissed the hand that finished straightening him out. He's charming her circulation socks off.

He talks about how we met, how much he admires me, and how well we always seemed to work together.

I ask myself, "Do we still work well together?"

He gives me a glance from where he sits, sending flutters to my belly.

I hope we still do.

But Mom glances at me, and I narrow my eyes, because I already know what she's thinking.

 _His_ gorgeous thick hair, _my_ eyes and/or smile, _our_ mingled genes. Babies—future ones.

Speaking of straightening him out...

"This is it, right? No more running off? You're staying?" she asks, running her hand over that arm.

 _Ha! Take that._ I get comfortable. I lift a brow when he delivers a look. _You're alone now_.

"Yes, ma'am," he says bashfully. "Just hoping she'll have me."

"Honey, she's been pining for years, crying her eyes out every night and wasting perfectly good ovulated eggs every month. I think she's _been_ ready."

"Ma!" I snap. Lord, like a broken record. The things she comes up with.

She ignores me. "Question is whether _you_ will have _her_. Could you handle the strong women in this family?"

Oh, snap! Or I don't this time. My lips seal shut.

He looks at her red but intently. "Frankly, I've learned to handle both, carefully and to the best of my ability. The two are very unique, but a sisterly bond is a strong one. You, on the other hand, I'm willing to work on."

She smiles.

"And make no mistake. I've always had her close, just not close enough," he says. He looks over at me. My insides curl up. I have to look away.

"Well, it's time. Life is short. The heart can only take so much. This one is special and exceptionally gentle. Gentle hearts should never be tempted. Once they harden, there's no penetrating," she says. She nods over her shoulder to me. "Just like her father. And I lost him. I can't get him back. There's only one of him."

I swallow heavily. I watch her as she does the same and wipes at her cheek. I've never heard her describe me as such and _never_ comparable to dad.

A nurse comes in to interrupt, and I'm relieved. Mom immediately introduces Masen as my boyfriend. I feel the floor drop out from under me. He silently watches me fall. Then his eyes lasso me back to ground.

The touching moment passes, and I want to strangle her again. I claw at her other arm to shut her the hell up already. She has none of it as she tells the nurse more excruciating details.

This is her time as a parent. Dad's not here to do it. She's said it before: God grants her the opportunity to tell people off she's had a problem with. They come to her in whatever circumstance, and she takes the chance, reprimands. And here he sits, under her scrutiny. The difference is that I'm here to witness it. This never was the most awkward moment in my life.

It's late. Visiting hours are up. He's been here all evening. The TV murmurs after the vitals are checked, the nurse leaves, and there's nothing left to say. He's in his corner, well rebuked, and I'm in mine, tense and staring at the TV but not watching. I can't even move a muscle.

Mom's smiling muscles work just fine.

I roll my eyes.

The late local news starts, and that's when he stands. Wordlessly, he walks around to the other side of the bed, toward my reclining chair. He leans in, hands on either side of the armrests. I tense and look up. His lips descend. His warmth envelops me when he daringly steals a lingering kiss.

"Tomorrow, then?" he simply asks. I nod, swallowing his taste. "Love you," he whispers.

My mouth hangs slightly ajar as I watch him walk out.

"Wow…" Mom muses, watching the door. "If that wasn't the yummiest kiss..." She looks over at me. "I'll marry him if you won't."

"You know what? I've had enough of you, woman." I flick my coat off the chair and walk out, leaving a trail of giggles behind me.

I try to find him. Like a ghost, he's nowhere in sight.

…

I awake the next morning. My apartment is cold and quiet. The glow of morning is coming through, telling me it snowed overnight. I instantly think of him, his words. We didn't get a moment to ourselves. I don't know where he is, went, what he left behind in New York, or if he did. But it's 8:00 a.m., and routine takes over the day. Mom needs a decent, non-hospital breakfast to start a day filled with new tests.

I layer up and pull on boots, knowing the landlord hasn't cleaned up the pathway outside. He never does. It infuriates me every time. My ass pays for it with every slip and fall.

I turn the key to lock the door, coffee mug in hand and purse in the other. The apartment across from mine opens and closes behind me. I turn to ask the old Greek man if the coast is clear outside, just to give a hint. I pay for the damn fee.

I drop my keys. The mug hangs by a finger.

Masen is locking the door behind me.

That was an empty apartment; now it's not. He turns and looks at me. A soft beanie hat covers his ears.

"I'm taking you. Wait here while I heat up the truck." He hands me my keys off the floor. When he reaches the stairs, he looks back. "Morning. Love you."

I watch him descend the stairs and stare dumbfounded. I fumble for my phone and send a text to Kate.

 _"He lives in my building and across the hall from me? Did you plan this?"_

 _"What?! Nope. He disappeared on me."_

"Well, fuck," I say out loud. I look at the door and down the flight of steps where he went. He planned this.

It warms my heart as I blankly stare at the coffee pot warming up for a second mug. I seal it up and juggle both thermals in one hand. I lock my apartment door again.

The street is heavily coated in snow and is still piling up. I find his tall silhouette through a windshield and aim for the door that swings open. I slide into the new truck's passenger seat.

We drive off.

It's silent. I turn to watch his profile. He picks up the mug I offered from its holder, and he thanks me. He takes a sip and licks his lips.

"Breakfast?" he asks. I nod.

"Then you'll explain," I say. His turn to nod.

He softly hums after a second sip. It's perfect, just the way he likes it. I remember. I hide a grin behind knuckles and look out the window. Inside, I'm freaking out.

 _What is this? What's he trying to do? And where did he get this truck?_

I look around. The dashboard is like a spaceship, screens and sleek buttons everywhere. The back seats are spacious; black leather and equipped with more sleek gadgets. We bump around, carving through the snow. It could probably climb Everest. I wouldn't have made it in my car.

I feel him watching me. I catch his eyes. There's determination there. He turns to the road but looks back. A silent quarrel. I settle comfortably onto my seat, set on watching him the rest of the way.

"The kid from Southie successfully makes it," I say. He smirks.

"Thanks to the girl from Dorchester he fell in love with."

I tilt my head. "Funny how easy it is to say certain words now. Was there a transplant of some kind? Tongue? Heart? Brain?"

He grins. "More like a life scare."

"Oh? What kind?"

He swallows down a swig of coffee and takes his time answering. No remnant of humor in his expression. "You left."

I nod. "But now you're here." I breathe. "So, what you're saying is that I should've barged into your life in New York and inserted myself completely right after you left me? _That_ was the trick?"

His jaw muscles flex.

I look out my window. I'm angry. It springs so quickly. "I should've known. We could've avoided all this heartache."

"I didn't say that. I was a fucking mess. I couldn't take care of you then. I needed to figure things out in my life. You didn't deserve what I was going to bring into our relationship. So, I let you go. But what I said before I left…" He shakes his head and sighs. "…was a scared, insecure, dick move. That's all it was, Bella. I couldn't respond."

I swipe at a single tear. "Oh, but how it hurt."

He reaches over. His warm hand delves into my coat—flesh to flesh, right over my heart. "Forgive me, Bella. Please. It's why I'm here. I can't lose you again."

I let that palm coat my heart.

He carefully wanders, running his knuckles along my neck and under my hair. Warm ripple effects crawl through every limb. We touch, and this is how it is every time. How could anyone deny...?

"And your lifetime adventure? What of that?" I ask.

He lets go to turn the wheel.

"There will be other ones. I'm hoping they're with you." He looks over at me.

Silence envelops us. We stop to grab warm bags of breakfast to have with Mom.

"I like her," he says after we turn toward the hospital. I can't help but grin.

"Guard your loins. She likes you, too. Probably too much," I say, rolling my eyes. "But she bites."

"Like mother, like daughter." He gives me a look. I give one right back.

…

The tap, tap, tap on stained, lukewarm porcelain in my hands rings sharply. The source? A ring on my index. It's simple and silver. I got it at a market when I was in college. It's not the importance of the ring, nor its worth; it's how I suddenly feel his eyes there. I'm staring out a large window in the cafeteria. The hospital noises outside are subtle but not enough to help this palpable air between us.

We left Mom to take a break. Well, more like the doctor came in and I gave her a break. Masen doesn't know. He was just eager to get me alone and surprised when I got up and gestured toward the door. He came willingly… for this.

Awkwardness.

He takes a sip of his tea, I take a sip of mine, and his eyes follow. He opens his mouth, and I know he's ready to ask about another significant ring. If he does, I don't know what I'll do.

I speak.

"What did Sam say when you left?"

His mouth closes. He blinks but certainly doesn't look away. He hasn't all hour. I take a shaken breath and hope he doesn't notice. The way he looks today and the way he looks at me make my insides quake. I'm nervous. I want to launch into his embrace, but I also don't.

I'm split even.

He shrugs. "Nothing much. Just to hurry back," he says.

I grin a little, because he is also. I don't think he notices it's what he does when he talks about him. But there's more to what he just said. I can tell. I'm patient. I wait.

"Well, more specifically to hurry back with you."

And there it is. My eyes narrow.

"Just that?" I ask.

His eyes roll. "He also handed me my ass, but that's beside the point."

I hum, interested. "Sounds like a point that should be elaborated."

If he found it funny, he doesn't show it. He takes his time answering. He suddenly looks nervous.

"When you left…" His head shakes. "I thought I ruined us for good. I went to him, and what I got wasn't advice but death threats," he says with a smirk. "He reminded me about himself and my mother, of all the missed opportunities when he could've said the exact same words to her but didn't—out of respect.

"I had all the chances in New York to say the words. I didn't, but they were there," he says, impulsively holding his chest. "I was just… ashamed. I felt like we needed time and the right moment, and it was definitely not that day at the loft. You were angry. It would've violated your state, dulled the declaration. I didn't deserve to say I love you."

"You tried to make me say it," I blurt. I bite my tongue. He shrugs slightly.

"Can't blame a man for feeling crazed. I was furious to know if I'd lost you."

I stare at porcelain.

"Please understand and trust when I say I was ready to tell you the night you left. I decided two weeks didn't matter. How we felt was rooted. I was going to pull you to me and make crazy love to you after. But you always were a step ahead of me, always knew what I didn't."

My stomach flutters at the thought.

Crazy love.

I would've given him my all—in his bed, his life, his hands. I watch the crease between his brows deepen as he conjures up the words that make me hold my breath.

"I was just… lost," he says. "In the past, I always knew why I felt so different toward you for years. You were a girl like any other, yet you weren't. It scared the shit out of me. I didn't know what to do with that, especially for the sibling of someone I respected. I was terrible to you because of it. I hurt you while you waited… patiently for me to catch up."

He ceases to speak. His voice catches.

He turns over the mug in his hands, mindlessly staring at it, desperately grasping composure. His eyes glaze over. His throats bobs.

He loses.

Quickly, that vein plumps on his forehead, a clear sign he'll burst at any second. I've seen it before. I silently watch him go from pale to fiery red. He takes a long breath and lets go of his hair, freeing it from white knuckles.

That even split in me fills up to a whole. I reach out, fingertips to fiery red. I can't hold back anymore.

He captures my hand with such hope, holds it to his lips for a kiss. He dares to look at me with dark, wet eyes that brim to the brink.

"I'm so sorry, baby. I'm catching up." He promises with a nod.

I let the words linger, wrap themselves like a bandage over my heart. I wander to his lashes, letting the wet brush onto my skin.

I accept. I nod. A knot at my throat balls up, witnessing the unthinkable.

"You've caught up," I promise.

...

I've been sitting on the armrest of the couch for an hour now, staring out the window. I'm frozen in place. The way he bends slightly, turns the shovel, and scoops up snow is something. The sound of scraping or crunching of frozen corners when he stabs through with the metal pallet is mesmerizing. Off it goes, fluttering in the wind when he dumps the mound aside.

He's strong and precise. He takes his time. Boots shuffle over a white sheet of snow. He digs all the way to the pavement. The black comes through like the faded color of his Carhartt coat. Melting icicles drip on his shoulder. Red nose. Furrowed brows. Purple lips. He appeared at the steps early to clear a path for me.

Something in me tugs and tugs.

Yesterday, Mom laughed so much. His wit and her curiosity played like a symphony. They talked about his mother and Sam, about his new work, and the gallery. She grinned at that last part. It just made him blush. He didn't elaborate, but he did about us.

The day went by so quickly after he walked with me to the cafeteria again—holding my hand, no less.

Well, he took the initiative, grabbed on like his life depended on mine. Nurses watching and him smiling, he was shameless. There was a goal behind it. I think to desperately help me see how relevant the feeling is between us. I accepted. I've been accepting since he poured it all out the previous day.

We talked over lunch. We ate before he had to go to a meeting. I asked what for. He smirked a little and said he had to meet with a local gallery. The word seems to be spreading.

"What word?" I asked.

"About you."

I'm the word. His work was seen by art enthusiasts in other cities, the love story with it. Galleries are eager to get his work showcased. It's growing. He'll have plenty of work from now on. I always knew he was meant for greatness.

He dropped me off at home before Mom got her dinner. He reached over the console, and just like the day before, he kissed me and said he loved me.

I said it back. "I love you" pressed against his lips. He pulled back and looked at me. The truck engine continued to run, and the honk of impatient horns blared behind us. He ignored them all as he shut his eyes, I shut mine, and we devoured this encompassing feeling. I dizzily stumbled out of the truck a while later, my mouth hot against the relentless wind. He watched through the windshield. I thought he was going to run in. My muscles hummed. I would've been tameless if he did.

I cup those loves he whispers in my palms and plan to never let them go. I wait for handfuls until they runneth over.

Armfuls.

Bushels.

Bundles.

Right now, I feel my love runneth over just watching him. I see our life in every scoop and toss. He's always there for me, giving himself completely, in his entirety.

I see wonder through Mom's rose-colored filter. It cloaks over my eyes now, her desire with it; his gorgeous thick hair, my smile, hopefully his creativity, and definitely my decisiveness.

A family. A future.

I grab an extra mug, leave the door unlocked, and climb down to the door outside. I sit on the cold stoop. He doesn't have to look up. He sticks the shovel in a mound and pats his pants and boots free of flakes. Relieved for the break, he sighs and sits by me.

"Mom called and told me to stay in. Too dangerous to drive today."

"You sure? Only folks from out of town drive like idiots." He puckers slightly and blows on the piping coffee. He sips. I love watching him do that.

I hum agreeing. "I'm sure. What will you do then?" I say, watching the quiet street. It's sprinkled with neighbors here and there as they clear up their driveways.

"Shovel the truck out. Make some calls, I guess."

"Where did you get the shovel?"

He rolls his eyes. "Store. Yesterday."

Hmm… Thinking ahead. I like it. "Where did you get the truck?"

He doesn't look at me. "I bought it. For us." Pucker. Blow. Sip.

I stare. That something tugs and tugs again.

He shrugs. "Your car sucks on snow. What did you expect? We live in New England."

I roll my eyes. He always did have a problem with my ride. At least this one is nice. Too nice. Charcoal Range Rover with black rims. It's a monster.

He's planning things out.

" _We_ live in New England now?" I ask.

"For the time being. I have to go back to work."

I chuckle low. "What is this? A sabbatical from work?"

"Yup." He says this straight-faced as he drinks. He doesn't look at me.

Wow. I grow red. Time off for me, for us. I swallow heavy, change the subject.

"How did you know about the empty apartment?"

He takes his time to answer. "Search, Bella. It's called the internet."

Smartass.

"I had to live somewhere. Seeing as my only option left New York hating my guts," he finishes saying.

"There's always the Holiday Inn and its continental breakfast. People love it."

"Funny."

I shrug. I thought it was.

Then, I remember. "I guess I forgot to tell you."

He looks over, gray eyes on me. "What?"

"That I'll be director of the Local there as well as here," I confess. He shifts to really look at me.

"Emmett put you up to this?"

I shake my head. "No. I just… really like it there. They're amazing people."

He kind of narrows his eyes at me. "Amazing people," he says flatly. I see this darkness there. I know what he's thinking—or of whom. I don't entertain it.

"They'll need a new lead since the current one won't be there much longer."

He sucks on his molar a bit and looks out at the street. Before he brings the mug to his lips, he says, "That's unfortunate."

I hide a grin behind my arm. Always smug, this guy.

"So, _I'll_ be needing some place to stay and all that," I say. He's quiet, but I know he's screaming it, taking his time before he seems too eager. I jump to it. "You think there's a good Holiday Inn with continental breakfast around there?"

He's quiet as he looks at the steam float out of his mug.

I shrug. "Guess I'll have to search, you know, the internet."

He rolls his eyes, sighs. "I know a place. It won't even cost you a thing. But you have to share the only really, really, ridiculously tiny bed with this chump who only sleeps naked. And runs hot. The continental breakfast can be negotiated. Let's just say breakfast on weekends, but you get a nice, thoroughly wet wake-up call every morning." He looks at me. "How's that?"

 _Tug._

I watch my warm breath seep out of my open mouth in a smoky cloud. I shut it and clear my throat. "That's definitely an option." I nod. He joins.

We stare at nothing. He's probably conjuring up images of said possible nights in that really, really, ridiculously tiny bed on blank slates of snow. They're probably the same images I'm conjuring up; all the vivid images possible.

"Where did you meet the model?" I ask. Might as well. We're on a roll.

His brows pucker. He does a double take. He watches me, and it comes to him. He sighs, closing his eyes.

"Is this what this is about? You keeping me at arm's length?"

"I'm not keeping you at arm's length." Am I?

"Bella…"

"That's ridiculous." No, I definitely am. I finish my warm cup to hide my face.

He turns to me slightly. "I come here, try to be what you need. I spill my heart out in front of your mother, and that's what you're thinking about?"

"Not _all_ I'm thinking about. I mean, there's plenty… And you didn't _have_ to… You know—"

"Are you fucking kidding me?" he interrupts. Oh, he's pissed now. I sigh.

"Never mind. It was silly. I do this. It's that impolite ugly in me. Very un-model-like," I blurt. "I mean, unladylike." I cringe. Jesus. I snort slightly and cover my mouth to smother it. He stares.

Oh, fuck. Here we go.

I grab the empty mugs and walk up the stairs. He follows, all the while spewing his anger behind me.

"You want to hash this out right now?" he says. "I have no problem." I don't answer. I reach the landing and open my apartment door. I stand back and hold it open. He walks into the living room. I lock the door tight. Check the bolt. Twice.

"Are we going to talk about that fucker holding your hand all over Manhattan? Walking around like he owned you, Bella?" he spits. "Or that dick, Serrano, going after me and starting shit?

"Maybe we _should_ talk about what I did nearly _a year ago_ , when I was trying my fucking hardest to forget you. I was drunk out of my wits, waking up on a damned sidewalk, not able to even look at Sam when he had to pick up my sorry ass. That one night, I was determined to let you go. But it didn't work. You know why? You were in here." He bangs his chest. "Right inside me. Those fucking words you said were beating and beating me inside, and I fucked it up, okay? It was all me! I did it! I let you go, and I fucking regret it. Is that what you want to talk about?"

No, not ever, but I don't say so out loud. I don't want to dull this tug and ebb I feel—the one that makes me want to run to him, make a life with him, and not break it for something I could've done to him so easily. It's what I was about to do with someone else to help forget, too.

I was there. He and I were in the same place. Serrano simply never came home for me to follow through. So I considered another. I was at the brink.

I'm not any different.

Another thing that's equal between us is how much we need this snow day… and a locked door to my apartment.

I push myself off of it. I tug and tug on that something, and that something materializes into layers of my clothing.

I shake my head. "No, I don't want to talk about all that." I kiss him hard, bite his lip, pull his coat free. "I was just really hoping to get you in here and show you what you bought me at Saks."

He's panting from the anger. His lips parted. He tries to speak, but his mouth bobs again and again. That crease between his eyes deepens as he watches me strip down to my underwear. That jaw I love so much sharpens. I kiss and kiss all the way to his lips.

"What was it you asked about the bra? The color, right?" I pause after unfastening his belt, jostling him a little with every clink and tug. I can feel that warmth radiating off him already. Craving him. Everything.

I look up. "Well, you wanna see it?"

I wait.

His nostrils flare like a savage bull. He comes to life.

Pissed, he hoists me up with those hands that shoveled for me all morning—the same hands that will do all the domestic chores that could melt any woman's heart in years to come: the kids, the dog, the car, the relentless leaky faucet. His hands would be on all of it. But for now, they wrap around my thighs as my legs are around him. He kisses me like it's the very last moment he'll live, a delightful vigorous underlining behind it.

I'll die from this.

I pull off my tank, and there it is—a new lucky bra. _Our_ lucky bra, I guess.

He lets out a breath and buries his face between. I think he did want to see them, just with eyes tightly shut and letting his mouth do the work. He grunts and fills his lungs, claws at each cup to get to me.

I pull on that gorgeous thick hair to catch his warmed mouth. I'm overcome. We made it here.

"You make me fucking insane," he says against my lips. I run my tongue over his.

We land on the purple couch where we started this. "For life," I say right back. "You ready?"

He looks at me. His labored breaths fan my bare chest. He takes me in, crushes me in his embrace.

"I love you," he says to my neck. Emotion takes him.

"Tell me," I whisper. "Again and again…" My voice gets caught, but my hips move with him. I get those bushels full of love with his mantra.

He widens his lap between my legs where I sit suspended. He runs a thumb there, shatters me and watches. He licks it off wherever he smears it, bra off and forgotten.

We traverse. Couch, floor, bed. He carries me there. His scent on my pillow again, his hands everywhere. And when we both fall down that precipice, he languidly kisses me until we do it all over again.

Me and him and an entire sleepy snow day all to ourselves.

...


	30. Chapter 30 - Mended

**Chapter 30 - Mended**

I start awake.

Numbing warmth is invaded by stark cold. My spine arches when he passes a frozen hand there. I hiss and watch a red-nosed Masen crawl back into bed with icicled legs and fingers. His cold lips catch mine once, twice.

"Jesus. You're freezing."

"I had to clean out the truck. The snow would've hardened," he whispers. He finds a nook between my neck and shoulder, legs twined around mine.

It's past noon. The things we did all morning, then snoozed; unspeakable. The ice blue glow of a foggy day comes through the window bathing the ceiling. I stare at that.

"Lots of other things could harden." I giggle. He's shameless, naked. He emphasizes that thought by bucking against my thigh.

Then I remember as his hands wander.

"What day is it?" I ask. He's now comfortably melted beside me, seeking his hand's favorite resting place. My knees slightly part when he finds it, heat crawling up and over.

"Thursday?" he muses.

I think and think. The bed suddenly shakes with my silent laughter. He cracks an eyelid to look at me. "What?"

"Dr. Hot-Pant's day off." And my mother made sure to keep us away.

I laugh more at his confused face. That sneaky little bitch.

…

The steam wafts from behind the closed door as I push it open. I quietly tiptoe close and pull the curtain back a slit. Soap runs down his back from his hair and shoulders. His arms flex as he washes off his neck and chest to clean off… well, remnants of us. His eyelids are covered in soap. The stream washes it off but his eyes remain sealed. His hands… I don't see his hands anymore.

Lasagna's in the oven. Salad's in the fridge. The wine is uncorked and served.

There's time.

There's nothing else but time now.

This love inside me is like a shiny, new tin heart.

I step out of everything and step in behind him. My damp hair from my earlier shower grows wet once again. I plant a kiss between his shoulder blades, press my cheek there, and maybe reach around so I can find where his hands are occupied.

He tenses with the surprise but relaxes into me. He groans after the warm silence. I bite his shoulder and smooch it better.

I left the bed before the evening sunset. I had all of the ingredients and the wine waiting to be poured, the food seasoned and constructed.

Maybe I did secretly go shopping knowing a lazy day like this would occur, and he'd come find me. At the time, on aisle six at the grocery store, I told myself I was ridiculous, that I was still full of hope. I dropped the items in the cart and told myself it was for Mom.

 _Liar._

Flustered, I thank heavens I was right. Maybe he was right, too; I've always been a step ahead of him, knowing his every move.

I heard the shower soon after I was done in the kitchen and you couldn't even blame me for looking.

He hooks his slick fingers around mine. I can't help but bite on a grin behind him, feeling him fall to pieces.

He can't hold back. I'm pressed securely between his soapy torso and the wall for a hungry kiss. We grow desperate so quickly.

He blindly turns off the shower, picks me up and we land on my bed with the speed of this insatiable yearning.

It's overwhelming.

The motions we go through, touching or not, we combust and breathlessly devour the feeling like deprived beings. I close my eyes just for a moment to keep breathing. That ache is there when I open my eyes again, and he's watching, vein plump on his forehead, lips parted, him sheathed inside me.

He cups my face. "I want everything with you," he says panting.

I try not to grin like a love-sick, giddy fool. "What everything?" I whisper. He moves slowly making me breathless.

"A place. A kid. A college fund. Investments. Fucking, whatever you cooked just know."

I laugh.

He watches me. No humor in his gaze as he passes a hand over my collarbones. "Where is it?" he asks about that significant ring.

I shake my head.

"Not unless you intend to ask properly; one knee, recite poetry, everything," I tease. His lips part. I snap them shut with my fingertips. "And definitely not like this." I chuckle.

He pulls back, taking all the warmth away, and making us both hiss. I claw at him with arms and legs. "Don't you dare!"

He smirks. He comes right back just like he always has.

…

He hums. He cleans the cheese and tomato sauce off his fork. He sips on wine and watches me. I blush under his gaze, like he's shuffling through photographs captured in his mind—everything we've done.

"Thank Christ you didn't make it vegan," he says about dinner. I laugh, not expecting that. My pseudo raw-eating, vegan days have been scarce lately.

I shrug. "I've had this hankering for meat lately."

He rolls his eyes. "Vulgar, just like her mother."

I grow red, cackling. "What?"

"Oh, don't think I don't know what she says when I'm not there."

"She says nothing… too alarming."

He smiles. "She'll marry me if you won't?"

Oh, for Christ's sake. He heard that part. I laugh for a good minute as I grab the dishes. He gets up and gets close, hip-bumps me to wash and dry the dishes himself, pans included. I stand back and gawk.

If he keeps this up, we'll never leave this apartment.

I see his coat on the living room floor from where I stand.

Speaking of apartments...

He watches as I go and rummage through the pockets. The keys jingle when I find them. I unlock my door and unlock his across the hall. I look back before I walk in. He's standing there wearing a grin and boxers, wiping his hands on a kitchen towel. He swings it over his shoulder and follows.

I step in. I cover my mouth at the sight so I won't laugh.

An air mattress is on the floor, a lonely plate and cup sit by the sink, and luggage is splayed and open by the bathroom.

"This is so… sad," I say. I pick up a take-out container off an overflowed trashcan.

He shrugs, leaning a forearm against the threshold. "It did its job."

I pick up his pillow off the terribly made mattress and notice it's from the Loft. I hug it and bury my face in it.

Suddenly, this emotion takes over me.

We've wasted so much time, so many years. This is what we've simmered down to. Yet, it molded us into better people. It wouldn't have worked out at the end if he'd given in the day he hired me. I would've given my everything until there was nothing left of me.

I turn and walk straight into his arms, the cold pillow between us. He wraps himself around me and squeezes right back.

He's patient. He waits. He's buried in my hair.

"I don't want to waste time anymore."

He nods.

I sigh through a staggered breath and sniff back tears. I can't control them. It's everything I need to let go of that has built up. This sadness in me. But he passes his hand, wipes away tears with the towel, and makes it better. I push a laugh through my nose as he wipes each nostril. He pecks my eyelids, cheeks, lips and holds me together.

He's speechless when I begin to drag his luggage through my door.

Then he helps with the rest.

…

Rose is screaming when I step out of the elevator on the delivery floor. I can hear her. Her room is lit softly, but everything inside is hard to witness. Emmett is standing by with his hand crushed in her like a death grip. He's terrified.

Mom is flustered and trying to keep her comfortable and calm, but she's just making it worse. Rose yells at her to get away.

I stand by the trashcan and watch.

Maybe I should've stayed away, and waited this out.

I sneak up to Mom. She's better now. Still on the mend but out of the hospital, and dating the doctor casually for three weeks, on and off.

About the same time, Masen has been away.

I'm a mess. I miss him every waking moment as he had to leave abruptly. I cry now, just sporadically, because this fear in me settled, like fate will tear us apart somehow.

He told me on the phone the last time we spoke to cut it out. He doesn't get to call much. This silent communication between us for weeks is excruciating.

The last time he called I spilled out all of my anxieties through snot and tears. It was honest. I don't want to hold back anymore. He hung up worried. I tried to revert what I had done and assured him I was fine. I don't think it was convincing. I cringe every time I think of it.

He left me the truck to get through the snow and to work safely. That included getting Mom home from the hospital.

Him? He's on a photo shoot overseas. The photographer who had been scheduled was fired for leaking celebrity images taken in the studio to magazines. Some lover's quarrel between him and the creative director. The call came late at night to break the mandatory news while we were asleep.

It put an abrupt end to our snow day.

I held on to him for the little time we had left. He patiently waited for me to let go with whispered promises and love.

Nothing was left for me to do but steal his pillow and wait for him to come back.

"Before you know it," he said after kissing me the next morning. The cold, brisk wind rushed around us on our stoop. I held on to him with white-knuckled fists, as if the wind would take me away. I would've let it if drift me wherever he went.

I went back to work that Monday.

"Why the hell haven't they drugged her?" I ask Mom quietly. We stare at a writhing Rose. She heard what I said.

"Because God hates me!" she yells. Mom looks at me wide-eyed.

She whispers, "Too late. She's dilated eight centimeters before they had the chance.

"Oh shit."

"Yes, shit. She's gonna make us all pay," Mom says scared. I snort. Slap my mouth closed.

Mom hesitantly gets close with a cold towel for her head, but Rose grunts and grips it in the middle until every drop is wrung out through the contraction. She bats it away. I grab the towel and attempt to get closer.

"Yo, sis. What's up?" She looks up at me. I haven't seen her since we talked. She's sweaty, eyes bloodshot, and panting. I've never seen her this disheveled; with reason, of course.

"Fuck you," she spits. We're both super eloquent. I nod and smile.

"You're gonna do great."

I place the cloth on her head. She lies back for the few minutes she has to rest, leaving Emmett's hand free to shake off before it starts over again on the next contraction. He's flustered, stressed, and ready to faint.

I pat him on the shoulder and smile. "Look at this. Blessings straight from heaven."

Rose screams. Partly at me, but mostly from the pain. Mom pulls me to sit by her and reprimands me.

I sigh and sit to stare at walls for a while. I think of Masen. I grow chills that crawl over skin he's touched. Mom notices my flushed cheeks when she looks at me. She asks, and I shake it off. Her narrow eyes aim right at me, and if she only knew the things we did on that Thursday she kept us away… well, she would probably be as giddy as me.

It was a day made for mending wounds.

Oh, who am I kidding? It was a day for trying every possible position on any given surface in _our_ apartment.

He didn't pop the question, but then again we never pulled apart long enough to try. The most insatiably perverted couple you'll ever meet. Maybe Rose was right.

All I remember is my view of the stove where I was. My empty glass of wine a foot away from my tight fists around the edge of the island. The tiles cool to the touch against my cheek and bare chest. Just one swift pull of his boxers after pulling off my sweater, and that kitchen towel never did fall off his shoulder. I'm sure the neighbors got earfuls.

That was us.

Our snow day.

I shake off my reverie, try to breathe easily, and cover up a grin with a bite.

I look up. Mom is still staring. She's skeptical, because to her, a grin aimed at a screaming Rose, doesn't seem fitting. I stand to get coffee, or maybe ice water to pour it on me.

It's gonna be a long day.

…

Hours pass. Rose is still in labor… and still angry. I feel horrible for her. I tell her to save the anger for pushing. She throws a pink basin at me.

I mean, with the strength it took to throw it, I'm sure she still has some fire in her to push that fawn out.

We all tell her she can't give up. Then she's crying. She calls for Dad, and it just breaks my heart. Partly because it means she can't stand the sight of any of us anymore, but knowing he'll miss this makes me blink back tears myself.

Mom wipes at her eyes beside me. And then I'm crying because I see _her_ crying. We look at one another.

I thank her. "For… everything," I finish saying.

"For what?" she says with a wistful grin and red eyes.

I smile. "For being Mom and also being Dad when he couldn't be." She sniffs back another round of tears.

Emmett sighs exasperatedly, mutters under his breath. "One woman at a time, please!" he shouts. "I need a nurse!" Rose, always under his attentive eyes. His love pouring out with every puff of her breaths.

I run out and get one. She runs in, lifts the hood and sees the baby is crowning. Unfortunately for me, I see it, and so does Emmett.

As I brace myself to catch a fainting man, who just so happens to fall over my lap, I think to myself there's no way in hell I'm ever having Masen's babies.

Then I cry some more.

Partly for Rose, but mostly because my brain just said, "Masen's babies," and not just "plain ole' babies" in general.

Ours.

Together.

Finally.

Mom looks terrified and now worried for both daughters, not just one.

So, I sit here. It's my job now. I hold onto a very large man, his head over my shoulder, as they cart Rose off with Mom in tow. They take her to wherever one takes a woman to push a human out from a vagina.

All I do is cry.

The door is open as they push Rose out of the room. Serrano appears behind it. He's standing in the hallway watching them cart her away.

My heart skips.

He sneaks in and closes the door. He stands there watching this unfold.

"What the… is he okay?" He points at a comatose Emmett. He sees my tears and walks over to me.

"Oh, God…" I sob.

Serrano is all wide eyes and patting me on my arm. "Everything will be fine," he assures.

I shake my head. "No, I mean, get him off me. He's heavy!" I yell.

He rushes to grab him. He grunts and grunts and then falls. Emmett is over him. I try to pull him off, but it's like lugging a dead, slippery, heavyweight champ.

We manage to roll him onto the floor. Serrano escapes from under him. I run to press the nurse's button by the bed.

I crouch and slap Emmett around a little.

Nothing.

"He's gonna miss the birth. Damn it."

"Maybe it's a good thing?" Serrano makes a face.

"No, no, no…" I argue. I hold Emmett's nose. It just makes him open his mouth.

"I don't think that's gonna do it. You're gonna kill him."

"Shut it, Serrano."

A nurse arrives and quickly puts something under his nose. He pops up like a drowning man. I yelp. He scrambles around like a fish on land.

"Rose!" He shouts. He gets to his feet and charges out of the room pushing everyone in sight. I see a few nurses point. He runs past the door the opposite way.

I slip to the floor panting. "Oh, my God. Oh, my crap. This has got to be the worst baby delivery in the history of baby deliveries."

Serrano laughs. I look at him. and start cackling, too.

We're out of breath in no time and rolling around. We're on the floor of a hospital room wheezing and letting out all of our frustrations.

Soon we sober enough to grow quiet. I stretch out and stand. He does, too. We gather the mess around us and, yes, we're avoiding each other. Tension carries us around the room. There's something he isn't saying, I can tell, and there sure as hell something I'm not.

It hangs on my necklace as we speak.

We decide to get a coffee. We drink that, stare out the hospital terrace at night. Still, we don't talk. We watch people come in and out, carrying on while this storm brews between us.

Back in the room, we click on the TV and stare at that until we get word of the baby. Mom appears an hour later.

"It's a girl," she says crying. I hug her and cry, too. I already love her. We wait for Rose to be pulled back into the room and hopefully the baby. I can't wait.

Mom gushes over how adorable she is. Her name is Mila. I take the distraction and 'oh' and 'ah' in the right places. Emmett ran in the delivery room and, apparently, fainted again. He was dragged to the corner while Rose's doctor guided her to push. Mom held her hand the entire time.

I laugh so hard I run to the bathroom before I pee on myself. The poor man. Men are weak despite their strength. Then, I think of Masen and what he would do if it were us. I grow lovesick inside. It always goes full circle in thoughts with him.

Mom dives into stories of Rose and me when we were born. Tears leak down my cheeks and I suddenly miss Dad again. I wonder if he would be proud of Masen, or even like him. What I wouldn't give to get words of encouragement from him right now.

I settle into silence, mind wandering—until it comes.

"I met someone," Serrano blurts suddenly.

He has his elbows over his knees, staring at his hands. We look over at him perched on a chair by the window. Mom looks at me. Her eyes wide.

"You, what?" I say too loud. I don't mean to, but it comes out. A nurse who just happens to be in the room sheepishly tells us to take it outside. So we do. I stand by the door in the hallway and wait for him. He takes his time.

"Where? When?" I ask when he walks out.

"Um, in Seattle. She… I've known her a while, or knew of her." He rubs his neck nervously. "We went to college together. We bumped into each other at a bar and…" He looks at me from under his lashes, afraid. "It just… happened."

I lean my back on a wall. I think. "Is she pretty?" I can't help asking.

He makes a sound as if she's a knockout, but catches himself. I watch him through narrowed eyes. He simply shrugs.

"So, you're telling me, all that time you were pushing me to be with you was all for nothing? You would've dropped me in a heartbeat?" I ask.

He shakes his head. "I'm sorry, Bella. I wasn't planning it. I always liked her; she finally gave me the time of day. I…"

"You told me to forget _him_ so many times, you told me to move on, and this is how you treat me?"

He sighs. "I was wrong. When it comes to forgetting someone, it's easier said than done, all right? I see that now."

"Oh, look at that! He learned a damn lesson. Now he gets it!" I flail my arms. People walk by and look. I'm angry. Why am I angry? "The audacity!" I finish saying. Yes, that's what it is.

He closes his eyes. He's speechless, guilt-ridden.

"I never in my life would lie to you…" I begin to say, but my voice fades. I glance over his shoulder and do a double take. That's when I realize I'm a hypocrite. My stomach drops and my heart goes from zero to sixty.

Serrano grabs me by the arms and apologizes profusely. He pulls me close and cages me in a hard embrace. He presses kisses and his cheek onto mine as he begs for forgiveness.

I'm not listening now. I try to pull away.

Double doors open in another hallway to my left. Rose is being pushed on a gurney back to her room—at the same time as Masen is storming down the other hallway to my right. Serrano and I stand at the end of the two paths.

"Hey! Get your hands off her," Masen yells when he sees us. He rushes over the shiny floors and yanks Serrano by the shoulder. He slams him against the wall.

Emmett is standing by with a loopy-looking Rose who's half asleep under blankets. Her eyes crack open. The moment she hears the chaos she perks.

Mom rushes out of the room with her phone in hand wide-eyed.

Me? I'm hoping the ground would swallow me whole because I see that fist. The swing is fast and hard. No one sees it coming.

Serrano's head jerks to the side, right in the sucker.

"Masen!" I yell. Rose yells from her bed, too. More than surprised to see him.

He keeps Serrano from doubling over with a hand on his shoulder, his eyes on him. He pats him once before letting go.

I pull Masen away and step between them. I'm mortified.

Serrano holds his face. "Fuck!" He spits blood from around his teeth.

I push a hand against Masen's chest. He cups it there with his and hangs on. The gesture just about floods my stomach with butterflies. This balm soothes my heart just at the sight of him. I stupidly sigh and hold on tight.

He's here.

"No, no. Misunderstanding," I explain to him. "He was just telling me about his new _girlfriend_." I nod.

"What?" Rose.

They attempt to push her through the threshold of her room, but she holds onto both sides of the door. "Serrano? You bastard!" she yells.

Masen shrugs his shoulders to straighten his jacket. "You owed me one." He glares at him from over my head.

Serrano is furious and flushed. "Fuck you. If I didn't have to use my hands to work this weekend, I'd break your face, you piece of shit!" He stupidly shows him his hands. If shit wasn't so heavy, I'd laugh at that.

"I'll be here if you change your mind." Masen challenges.

The other attempts to take a step. I turn to keep him away.

"Outside." Serrano nods toward the doors. He balls his fists.

"Not a good idea, all right? And you know it," I say to him through my teeth. Masen will shred him.

"What the _fuck_ is going on?" he hisses at me, staggering back a step or two. He touches his lips, blood on his fingertips. I try not to crack a grin.

 _Oh, you know, just my man arriving on time._

No, I definitely crack a grin.

I shrug. "You never called. Things happened. Clearly." I wave a hand at him. He rolls his eyes. "I mean, I kind of want to hit you, too. This worked out nicely." I nod. He glares.

"Real fucking funny." He shakes me off.

Masen reaches over and grabs my hand. He pulls me back against him. Everyone notices.

I look up at him until I get his attention. Like a switch, his eyes soften, his brows knit.

"You're here," I whisper.

"I had to come."

I shake my head. "Something wrong? Are you all right?" I pat him down. All in one piece.

"We had that one amazing day together, all alone, you and me. I didn't get the chance to ask."

I look around. Everyone is staring. Rose's mouth drops. Mom covers hers.

"Maybe we should…" I point toward the exit. My heart pounding with all the attention.

"I'm sorry, Bella. I messed up. I came when I had the chance. I don't want you to think I'm holding back. I'm not. It's been killing me knowing you've been upset. I'm..." He idly grazes my left hand spread against his chest. Then my neck. When he doesn't find what he's looking for, he looks anguished. "Where's the ring?" he asks.

"What ring?" Rose says loud.

"Wait, what?" Serrano.

Mom holds her heart and holds up her phone close to my face. Emmett is too busy holding his head from all the skull to floor contact he had today.

 _Fuck, fuck, fuck me some more._

"You're getting married?" Serrano grows angry. "You would never lie to me, right?" he sneers.

I shake my head. "No, I'm not." I look at Masen. He's crushed. "I mean, yes… or, I don't know!" I flail.

"Excuse me?" Rose's voice goes an octave higher. She fights with the nurse at her side who's just as interested in watching this circus act.

I ignore her. "We'll talk about it later, okay?" I tell Masen.

He shakes his head. "No. I don't care who knows." His eyes catch the gleaming ring around my neck peeking through my button up. He grabs it and tugs on the chain until it gives. I fight with him to get it back.

A tug of war.

He wins.

"Such a hypocrite." Serrano laughs.

"You had it on this entire time, and you never told me?" Mom.

I look at her. I'm speechless like a gaping fish finding air.

Masen kneels on one knee.

I lose all my breath.

A harmony of "oh my God" echoes down the hallways. People look and get closer. Nurses. Patients. I see a janitor with a broom in hand on his toes looking over heads.

Jesus.

"Um, so this is Rose's day. Let's not ruin it, m'kay?" I say through my teeth. I smile down at him like a person on the brink of a breakdown.

He shakes his head. He pulls at my hands hard. "Look at me," he says firmly. Something in his voice makes me blink down at him.

He's serious. His eyes piercing and bright. His pupils dilated. I focus on those, all of him. He's gentle, strong, and gorgeous. His hair is neat in waves with trimmed peppered hair on his jaw. I do take him in—as well as his scent I love so much.

I nod dumbly. I watch his lips moving. "Rose has taken enough days from us. This one is ours," he utters.

He looks back at the gurney. Rose is leaning on an elbow watching. Her mouth gawks. She flips a palm up in question.

"I'll never be sorry I fell for your sister. I know our history. We were friends, but it ended there. I never wanted more from you but for your acceptance."

People gasp, mom included. I glance at her from under my lashes. She points at her phone and mouths, "Kate." I roll my eyes.

"I need your understanding," he continues. "I've always wanted her at my side, and you can't make me feel guilty for that. Not anymore."

"Then be a man. Be there. Care," she says hard.

"Let me," he says right back, this fire in his voice. "You never gave me a chance."

Emmett lays a hand on her shoulder. She falls back on her pillow.

Masen turns to me. Determined, he says, "Marry me, Bella. Be with me. Be my wife."

Without a thought, I say, "No." The entire crowd murmurs. I think I hear that broomstick drop.

"Bella!" Mom reprimands. I lift a hand towards her.

I look at him—at this beautiful man I've grown to love so deeply. This man looking up at me with the expression I've always wanted to see from him.

Love. Crushing love.

And who's also completely and utterly clueless. I remind him. "You forget one part… a very important one."

He looks down, confused, racking his brain. He turns the ring around in his fingers. I nudge his jaw so he'll look at me. "Say the words again… the ones we say every day. It goes with the ring." I plead for him to understand.

This bright spark of realization crosses his eyes. He sighs. His head dips over our joined hands. He kisses mine. He looks up, and his grin is brief, he shakes his head.

"I love you. I love you, Bella. I love you more than anyone." This faint smirk plays over his lips. "I've been in love with you since the very first click of the shutter at my doting subject. I always hoped for this moment. Marry me, Bella?"

"That's better," I whisper. Emotion taking me. "Yes… of course, I will." I smile at him.

The crowd erupts. A cacophony of applause fills the place. I laugh. He slips on the ring with the chain still attached. He kisses my hands, my stomach, and makes his way to my lips. I hang on for dear life—this new one of ours.

When he hugs me close, I get a peek at Rose over his shoulder. She's smiling. She wipes at tears with her blanket and rolls her eyes.

She would be happy for me. I knew she would. All she ever wanted was for me to be okay ever since Dad died. She planned for me to go to New York. She did everything possible to make this happen, just not exactly on her daughter's birthday… or in front of the entire hospital staff.

Mom is jumping up and down where she is. I can hear Kate's squeal over the speaker. " _Roll the credits! This Hallmark movie has ended!"_ She screams. I push the phone towards Mom and push her into the room. So embarrassing all of this.

Everyone is in the room safe and sound, including a grumpy Serrano, thank God. I pulled him in by the arm. They're all a ball of chatter and excitement as they bring in the baby right after. I keep Masen at the door hidden behind the curtain surrounding Rose's bed. I push him against it.

"Why do you insist on bringing so much attention to me?" I ask. Each word enunciated as I shake him by the ears. He chuckles. He wraps his arms around me and kisses my lips.

"You're worth the attention."

I sigh. I fidget with the collar on his shirt. "You came all this way."

His fingers run down my neck. "I didn't exactly plan it like this, but I promised myself the moment I saw you, I would." He points a thumb over his shoulder. "Grand gesture."

I bite on my lip. I can't contain this happiness. He pulls on it with that thumb and kisses me.

My knees kind of buckle. I ravish him before anyone notices. I pull away to breathe. His forehead against mine.

"You worried me... on the phone. I had to come."

I sigh. "I know, I'm sorry. I swear I was fine. I just missed you."

He shakes his head. "No, I had to finish this the right way. It's what I wanted. Just let me, all right?"

I watch him, his brows knit, his conviction. I nod. "All right." Then I hold back a smile.

"You're never going to let me live this down, are you?" he asks.

"Nope."

He groans.

The crowd behind us is purposely noisy. Mom is probably bursting with questions. Serrano glares from a split in the curtain, disgusted. "Still sucking face," he announces. I flip him off. He makes me roll my eyes; he makes Masen grin because he has not an ounce of shame.

Someone shoves the baby into Serrano's arms from out of view. He softens, coos, and gushes. I chuckle. Yeah, I think we'll be fine.

Then it reminds me...

"Just don't pull out photos of my tits and show them around next. I'm officially out of business." I say to Masen.

He sucks his teeth. "That's too bad. We're ready to open the next expedition in Boston. I just got the news."

"Oh, fuck me." I groan against his chest.

"Oh, I will. Three weeks of torture? Just you wait." That smirk I love so much plays at his lips.

Giddy.

Again.

…

His promise fulfilled before he left again to finish his trip. Sadly, he still had a few cities to visit. He kissed me hard at the airport, and I watched him go wanting to jump the security line and make a run for him. I knew I wouldn't even make the jump with these short legs, let alone reach him.

The day he came back, he used the extra key to my apartment. I didn't know he still had it. I wondered if I would see him in New York, but there he was. The keys dangled from his fingers.

He dropped it on the coffee table by a duffle bag. I watched him step into my dark room, lit by the kitchen light, and strip off his clothes. He slipped under the sheets. Not a word was uttered but for his lips and hands finding me tucked warmly in bed. Like a dream, he didn't let go until the sun was up.

I never imagined we'd go through the same routine even after we married. That lovely day happened in Rose's backyard.

There were flowers in my hair, matching petals pinned to his tailored suit. The memory of Mila in a flower dress, gurgling and eating up his cheek while we danced is still vivid. His new best girl. Me, a little jealous; only getting her pudgy legs to kiss.

Sam came, and the look he gave Mom when he met her… oh, damn. Masen and I instantly shared a wide-eyed look, turned to suppressed grins. The rest of the night was spent watching the chase of both the doctor and Sam trying to charm her in all ways possible.

We were in stitches. Even Rose would give us a side-eye from across the table to share her disbelief. Kate, with a newly added weight of a rock on her finger, hid under the table to laugh it off, as John and Serrano looked on perplexed. It definitely brought extra joy on our day.

Beyond that day, my Locals grew strong, while Masen's successful career required long trips away. I didn't mind. Where he went, I followed if he asked—just like I told him I would that day at the subway station. I have seen so much of the world traveling with him. The stories we told.

Life with Edward Masen, my love, and my pain, is perfect now.

Well… okay, it's not.

It's extraordinary, exciting, yet fucking chaotic.

My words, not his.

Those, I'll keep to myself.

…

 **The End.**

…

* * *

 **A/N:** Epilogue for this? Thinking about it. Let me know what you wanted resolved.

Thanks so much for making this fic experience for me one to remember. I would love a show of hands if you feel differently about these characters than, let's say, ten chapters ago. No? Maybe I don't want to know lolol. But, I guess I kept you guessing. No doubt, it was always going to be a happy ending. The real couple didn't have one, but I was able to manipulate this world to get them together above all struggles and their flaws.

I think this will be the first story I show my sisters, as in, really pass it over and let them read it. It's torture but I'll stomach it and anticipate their reactions. Who knows? Theirs might be just like yours, hah.

Please keep an eye out for an expanded one-shot from the _We love Mobward contest_ winner. My Mobward is a crazy, robe wearing son of a gun, ready to make Bella's life a living, mediocre hell. I'll be posting the written one-shot along with the second chapter soon. Lots have asked. The title: **_Is this the worst time to kiss you?_** Probably should re think that title but wtvs. I'll figure that out later. Check out his deranged selfie in a robe on my facebook page: Mujer N Gonzo.

You can also read my action/romance fic while you wait: **_Ruthless and Ivory_**. Not so polished, but it will sure as fuck keep you on your polished toes, more than this fic ever did. Touch it, give it a try, and get ready to burn from it. It's not your average fic. Don't believe me? Read the reviews. Enjoy while it lasts on the shelf.

Special thanks to my pnfbb for her plot twisting poking stick she pokes me with. She makes all things beige better. And always, to the rest of the crew: Vantastic and J. Love you for making me write.

To **Iris** for your brilliant beta fixes while going through life shit and still keeping on point. And to fantastic **Fran** for jumping in once in a while when "Your grammar sucks. Die" came in too hard early on and anxiety hit (Be nice to authors, folks. There's no fee at the door. Open-bar. Free words).

Aren't you glad this is over?! :-D Onward, readers. You are now free to breathe! Come back later for more, tho.

Fran wanted to leave some words, so I'll leave you with that — _Pay It Forward will be featuring fics in four different categories on their new blog: For rookies, Encore seasoned authors, Classix oldies, and overlooked fics that need some love. If you want to participate or learn more, contact Fran._

 ** _PUERTO RICOOOOOOOO, I LOVE YOU!_**


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